


Mark Time, Hearts.

by octagonexplorer



Series: Bandstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Hehehe, Humanstuck, Love, M/M, Marching Band, Mentions of Cancer, Minor John Egbert/Vriska Serket, Musical Instruments, Sadstuck, Vriska Serket - Freeform, bandstuck, but its brief and in one chapter, cute AUs, i blame marching season, it ends p quick dont worry babe, maybe some, stupid name im sorry i thought it was clever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octagonexplorer/pseuds/octagonexplorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is forced to join the school band because of his not-so-swell behavior, and meets some of the people he's bound to never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bad at summaries, sorry--  
> I might change it later.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's first day as a band kid.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you're kind of PISSED.  
Okay, SCRATCH THAT, you're DOWNRIGHT ANGRY.  
  
One mistake, and your stupid principal is telling you in order to make up for your citizenship grade, you have to join _Band._  
Apparently, your teachers came together and had a long talk about how you need to build more character and stop being a disruption in class. You don't see the problem, because it's not like you're bursting out into song during class. You just... don't exactly pay attention.  
And maybe you make it clear you're not listening.  
And maybe you have a ton of other problems that need addressing, and your bro agrees.  
  
Oh, yeah.  
You'll be one of those kids pretty soon, wearing ridiculous hats and trotting around with instruments.  
You don't understand why you can't just join something else like ASB. You'd rather choose the overly peppy kids than the band geeks.  
No offense to either party or anything.  
You just _really_ don't want to be in band. Your cool status would smack to the ground, hit the earth's core and back before you could even say the word, "Trumpet".  
  
No, seriously, you just said that.  
  
Your band director gives you a smile and clasps his hands together in what you sense is excitement.  
 _Your_ band director.  
Your _band director_.  
No matter how many times you say it, the fact doesn't want to dissipate.  
  
He's a bald man, kinda tall, perfectly straight teeth that are pretty much always showing because of his constant smiling.  
You're pretty sure his name is Mr. Combs.  
It's pretty ironic since he has no hair to comb.  
This is the guy you'll be seeing a lot of.  
  
"Excellent! We'll just get you a trumpet so you can start playing today."  
  
With the way he's acting, you don't know if he knows why you're here. You decide to brush off his bright attitude, and give a small nod.  
You don't know what you're doing.  
This whole process struck you as lame.  
  
Mr. Combs leaves the small music library the two of you were in, and noise floods inside as the door opened, ceasing when shut.  
Must be sound proof.  
The band isn't actually _playing_ anything, but you think you made out the Incredibles theme song coming from one of the other trumpets.  
  
A few moments later, he comes back with a girl holding about four instrument cases. And she was an _interesting_ character.  
By that, you mean, it struck you as odd that she wearing an eye-patch like she was a pirate or something. You don't really know if she's blind in that eye, or if she seriously thought she was cool wearing it.  
She sets the cases gently onto the carpet, and plops herself down there as well, moving to cross her legs Indian-style.  
  
"This is Vriska, she is the trumpet section leader," Mr. Combs says before adding, "I have to go adjust the drill, come out when you two are ready."  
And with those words, he departs.  
  
You look at Vriska.  
She looks at you.  
It's almost a scowl, but you can tell she's trying not to.  
  
"Have you played any instruments before?" She asks, tearing away from your everlasting stoic expression to open up all the cases, pushing aside two that held the unusable. You shake your head in response.  
Unless turntables or elementary school recorders count, you haven't played anything.  
Ever.  
Your response clearly doesn't please her because she really does scowl this time. "Can you at least read sheet music?"  
"'Course. All cows eat grass or something like that, right?"  
  
She laughs, easing up a bit.  
Hey, maybe your Strider charm will benefit you here.  
  
"Yeah. I was just asking because it helps if you're going to play an instrument for the first time. You're going to have to memorise a lot of stuff here, so," She lifts up the trumpet she had been fiddling with as you spoke, waiting for you to take it.  
"Here. I can run you through the basics, and if you need any help later, ask me or Sollux." Vriska then gets her own instrument and comes back to join you in the cramped room.  
The rest is kind of a blur at this point because, fuck, your face hurts.

* * *

  
  
Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you just got this new kid in band.  
This is exciting because now you have 49 members! One more person, and you guys will be the biggest your school has had.  
Okay, well, 49 band members isn't that much compared to other bands you compete with, but you're still a pretty good band. You didn't win Championships in your division three years in a row for nothing. Not to gloat or anything.  
But it's still a pretty sweet achievement and you can tell some of the others are happy about this too.  
Not many people at your school like band, which is weird, because everyone is always clapping along with you perform at games and pep rallies.  
The liars.  
  
Your eyes flicker towards the keyboard in the corner and you debate whether or not you should warm up with auxillary today, or just go with your clarinet.  
You can't ask Mr. Combs.  
That's a no-no.  
As a drum major, you want to be ahead of the game.  
  
But then you notice your cousin Jade playing the Doctor Who theme on her flute and the itching feeling to join her with your own wind instrument overcomes you.  
You dash over to your little cubby and quickly take out your case, assembling your clarinet as quickly and efficiently as you can. You have to hurry, before she stops! Half of the band knows that song, so it would be really cool if you all joined in at once.  
You pop your reed into your mouth and tap your foot impatiently on the ground as you wait about eight seconds, twirling it a few times, before putting it in place, slipping on the ligature, and picking up on her trail. She rotates to look at you and smiles slightly, continuing to play, and your duet becomes a quartet as a two saxes join the mix, followed by at least two more clarinets.  
  
You really love days like this.  
It's super awesome, and the battery is starting to get unto it too until the heartbreaking moment when your director walks in hand holds up his hand, waiting for silence.  
Once you're all quiet he starts speaking. "We're going out to the field today. Bring everything: pencils and dot books."  
  
You should probably get some music for the new kid.  
But then again, he's in the music library with his section leader.  
You're just _reaaaally_ curious about what he looks like. And who he is.  
  
Speaking of the new guy, when Mr. Combs tells you to break and get your things, he finally comes out.  
It takes a while for them to leave that room but when they do, the mysterious blondes' cheeks are red, and you're guessing Vriska made him try running through the Maximum Strength Warmups his first time.  
The poor guy.  
  
On instinct, you head over to them, giving the guy a smile.  
"Hi, I'm John," you introduce yourself. You hope you're not being too forward. That would be awkward for the both of you.  
  
He looks at you head to toe before nodding once. "Dave."  
  
Dave...  
  
Where have you heard that name before..?  
  
Wait.  
  
 _Wait._  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
 _Dave._  
  
He raises a brow, and you realise you'd been staring at him funny for a little while.  
Shit.  
  
Yep, you're screwed.  
Dave is the last person you want on the Squadron.  
Dave is kind of a huge jerk face that takes pleasure in disrespecting teachers.  
It's like he's never learned proper manners in his whole lifetime.  
  
Siiiigh.  
Maybe if you get lucky Mr. Combs wont put him in the drill you guys are getting today. He wasn't here early enough to be in the first movement, but sure enough, he'll probably be in the second.  
  
"I see you play trumpet now. How's that working out for you?" You ask him, desperate to get through this conversation, but still try and be nice to him at the same time. You don't like slackers in your band, it bothers you.  
Dave can tell you don't want to talk to him right now, and you can tell he wants the same. So the answer is short and simple, and a great conversation ender.  
  
"Good."

* * *

  
  
You get out to the field and run your usual lap and come back to stand in a block.  
You're all pumped and ready for some turrets but then you hear it.  
  
The dreadful words from the director.  
  
"John, would you mind taking Dave off to the side and giving him a lesson on marching technique?"  
 _I'd rather not._  
  
"Sure. C'mon Dave." You're _waving him over_ , heading downfield.  
  
He follows you obediantly, and once you're far enough from the band you start to explain how to march.  
And you think he might be genuinly trying.  
But it doesn't cut it.  
  
  
  
 _"Dave, your back has to be straight."_  
  
  
  
 _"Stand a little taller."_  
  
  
  
 _"Stop with your feet together."_  
  
  
  
"No, Dave.." Instead of continuing to verbally telling him what to do, you take the liberty to push his shoulders back a little, bring his elbows forward, and lift up his chin.  
Perfect.  
"Posture is really important when you march. If you're slouching over half of the time, it doesn't help when you're trying to glide across the feild while playing something."  
He doesn't say anything witty to this, so you straighten up and count him off again.  
He does _much_ better.  
If you had a gold star, it would be on him right now.  
  
But as soon as he reaches the yard line he stops and goes back into his relaxed postition, arms at his side.  
"Seriously, this is almost more frustrating than my brother shoving smuppet ass in my face."  
  
Wow, okay.  
That was rude.  
You suppose holding your arms up at attention isn't for everyone.  
Well, of course, he didn't even want ot be in this class.

Silly John.  
  
Marching band is for people who try, you can't just forget that important detail. And here you though for a moment that maybe, _just maybe_ , Dave might be adjusting to the new addition to his schedule.  
Apparently not.  
  
You jut out your hip, placing your hand there in an annoyed flurry before snapping.  
A slightly nicer way of snapping, you think.  
  
"Look. I know you don't want to be here or anything, but you need to work. Sorry that band doesn't meet your expectations, Dave, but you just have to suck it up. Please stop giving up so quickly. You were doing great five seconds ago--"  
"Dude, calm down." Dave interrupts. He can pretty much sense your overreacting from a mile away, and you think his expression softens.  
  
You frown.  
  
"I'll do whatever I have to do to get out of this class. So if working or whatever will do the trick, call me your boss, because I'm about to blow you out of the water." He almost smiles after saying this, but instead, he covers it up with a smirk. You guess.. he's not too bad.  
Not your ideal band member, but whatever.  
He'll do.  
You're almost at fifty because of him, after all.  
  
You smile back, nodding a little.  
"Cool. Let's get to work, then. We're not done with technique." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Dave hang out before the football game.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and it's been about one week since you joined the school band.  
It's been about one week since you picked up an instrument that didn't involve headphones and records, and learned to play it.  
  
One week since you think John Egbert started deluding himself into thinking that you two were friends.  
  
No, you don't _think_.  
You _know_.  
  
It was okay at first when he would keep you from being too bored during band class, but at the start of the week he's been taking any opportunity he can get to greet you in different ways. And by any opportunity, you _do_ mean _any_.  
  
On Monday, it was pretty simple.  
Before you went to your first class, he gave you, "Hello!" and dased away.  
  
During your ten minute break, it was, "Hey, Dave!"  
  
Then at lunch.  
  
"Howdy! Heh. Have you ever said that before? Cause you know, your from Texas."  
God, he was so lame.  
To this, you gave him a no, and you ended up spending the whole duration talking about southern hospitality.  
  
This pattern continued until you finally stopped him on Wednesday, after he used probably the weirdest greeting the kid could think of.  
  
"Dude. John. Stop." You tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder as you wait in the hall with everyone else for Mr. Combs to open the band room. He gives you another one of those silly laughs that could easily pass as a giggle, and the two of you head inside.   
And then within like ten seconds, the director is calling you all to the ready and you're confused as hell.  
It isn't until John silently gestures you to clasp your hand over the other and bow your head, but you feel ridiculous doing this. You oblige though.  
  
"We have a game tonight. The cheer team will be rehearsing with us for pre-game so we have to get out there right now. Bring everything to the field.." He looks down at his watch, and the silence is starting to bother you. By the looks of it, fidgeting isn't an option.  
"Ready, go!"  
  
Oh, okay, everyone is swarming to get their shit and you're trapped in a corner. You don't even know how to play any of the music for pre-game, you've never been to a football game in your life. All you know is that the team sucks.  
Oh, and you just got your trumpet last thursday, so actually getting the notes somewhat right would take a miracle.   
  
Eventually, you make your way around the guy blocking your way, and grab the little notebook you found in your cubby one day (You're pretty sure John stuck that in there. _"Dave, you can't go on without a dot book forever!"_ ). By this time, most of the other members are leaving the room, holding yard markers and instruments, some of them pushing out xylophones. John, however, is juggling two instruments (The rebel) and it takes you a little while to realise that he's carrying his clarinet and your trumpet.  
You hold out your waiting hands, and he shakes his head.  
"No, Dave. You have to help the pit."  
"Says who?"  
"I just did."   
Pfft. You roll your eyes.   
  
"I better watch out. Drum Major John is giving orders." You say, holding up your arms in defense, trumpet gripped tightly in your right hand so it doesn't fall and break or something.  
"Dave, everyone is already gone, and we still need to take the gong down. Buuut, I guess you're not strong enough for it..?"   
  
 _Oh_.  
 _Oh really now?_  
  
"I'm strong enough. Don't doubt the Strider skills, bro." You say, already advancing on the gong. He laughs mockingly (Again with the giggle-laugh, Egbert), while you lift up the large bell, but when you turn around, you can hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway.  
Welp.  
John has baited you in once more.   
  
But thanks you your countless strife sessions with your older bro, carrying the weight of the giant gong doesn't kill you by the time you set it down on the sideline, near the fifty yard line where you assume it goes.  
  
John is chatting away in a small crowd of five people, so you kind of doubt anyone will notice as you join the conversation, awkwardly standing next to him who's currently talking to the colour guard (Is that right?) members, enthusiastically. One of them is short and blonde, freckles dotting her cheeks. She looks up at you and flashes a smile and you get the strongest urge to hug the shit out her with those cat ears and leather, fingerless gloves she's wearing.  
  
"Hi Dave!"   
  
Wait.  
Don't you know this girl?  
  
You rethink your schedule, and sure enough, you remember the bubbly girl from class, before you took your usual nap.   
It's not your favourite class.  
  
And you're really unsure of what her name is because of this, so you'll feel like a dick if you get it wrong.  
Time to wing it.  
  
"Sup, Nepeta."  
  
"Do a cartwheel!"  
  
You're guessing you said the right name because she shows no signs of irritation.  
But... what?  
"A cartwheel?" You raise a brow, the request being a little weird, honestly.   
She nods, and you guess you took too long to respond because she's already turning to face John and demanding a cartwheel out of him. You assume it's normal because he pulls out of his own conversations with a few of the other girls to sigh, "Agaaain?" Which recieves another nod.  
He sumbits to her wishes and does a pretty bad cartwheel away from the instrument line, and comes up when the whole Squadron is called to ready once more. His glasses are slipping off of his nose, but he ignores it and continues to stand still.   
  
"Set up for pre-game!" Says another voice, and you know it to be the other Drum Major. The name slips your mind though.  
The band grabs their instruments, and the guard their flags, before running across the field and you have no choice but to follow them with a fastly paced walk.  
Can't have your hair flipping tables over here.  
  
You have no idea what's going on.  
  
Shit.  
  
You fill into the back of the small block, and--  
  
"Band, ten hut!"  
  
 _"Hut!"_  
  
So, so screwed.  
The cheerleaders line up next to the band, and you're really nervous, even though you're not actually _performing_ or anything.  
  
"Mark time, march!"  
  
This is something you know.   
Your feet move in place, heels lifting up to meet your ankles, your left foot falling upon hearing each _tap_  against the rim of the snare.  
  
"Forward, march!"   
  
And you're off.   
  
It's not perfect, but you're moving.   
You're marching.   
And pretty well actuall-- oh, oh shit, they've stopped moving.  
  
After this freak out moment, you overall don't mess up too bad.  
  
Practice runs smoothly, and all is well before you've reached the end or rehearsal and Mr. Combs announces that there's a football game and you'll have to be back at 6. Which is only an hour and a half from now, so you're just gonna chill here in the band room or something until then.  
That is, if you don't get distracted within twenty minutes and leave the room in search of what in particular is causing these goosebumps on your arms to starting raising.  
Because what you hear down the hall is _great._  
And you're kind of dying to find out more.

* * *

  
Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you're sitting alone in the choir room.  
Its not as lonely as one might think, you aren't just sitting here doing nothing.  
No, it's more than that.  
  
Placed delicately atop the keys of the piano before you, your hands begin to move. Slow at first, their pace is, but it builds, oh, how it builds.  
The sounds emitting from the piano echo and bounce off of the walls of the empty room, some notes falling out of the path you're creating, only to join back in with a lower sounds.  
You love what you do.  
You love what you're _doing_.   
The ballad lulls your eyes to a soft shut, but you don't stop.  
It moves you.  
It sways you.  
It _is_ you.  
  
You don't realise that someone else has invaded your serene space until the song comes to an end (You don't even know if you were playing a song, to be honest).  
  
"That was..."  
  
Oh.  
Dave.  
  
He probably hasn't ever heard you play before, judging by the look on his face.  
It's not really a look, it's more so a variation of his usual stoic expression that appears to be slipping off of his face.   
  
"That was amazing." He concludes, after gathering his thoughts. You don't know why, but when he says this, you get this really happy and relieved feeling in your stomache. That's new.   
"Thanks.." You respond, fidgetting a little in your seat. That's a new thing too.   
  
He leans against the doorframe, and a bit awkwardly at that.  
"How long have you being playing?" He asks, and you shrug to this.  
"Ever since I was little, I guess." You move to cover up the keys but he stops you before you can. Geez, he's really fast because he pretty much bolted across the room just to place his own hand onto the fallboard.  
  
"Play something."  
  
Oh, oh gosh.  
No, stop, why are you getting nervous?  
You do this all the time for your dad.  
  
"Like what?"  
"Anything."   
  
He responses are quick, and you want to back out. You're not _afraid_  of playing for Dave, you just don't want to mess up for Dave.  
But he's really anticipating this so you nod, push the fallboard back into its place, and begin to play again.  
Something else this time, just something your dad taught you long ago.  
Your eyes close again and you kind of forget he's there. The little world you had is restored, and you like it like this.   
You don't mess up.  
You play it as well as you can, and when you finish, the tune is still in your head, and your hands want to retreat back to the keys again. But you instead turn back to Dave, searching for a sign of... Approval?  
Maybe.  
  
He doesn't say anything, though.  
Not for a solid ten seconds, and it worries you.  
  
"You're really... _really_  good, dude." He finally says, and you pull your hands away from the piano, sitting on them instead.  
"Thanks.."  
"Like, Mozart material."  
"He's on a whole different scale, Dave. He is up there with the piano gods."  
"Beethoven?"  
"Do you know many pianists?"  
"No, but I'm trying to get the point across that you've got some mad skills."  
"Thank you." You try again, and he doesn't compare you to a well known pianist again.  
  
The rest of your break is spent just... Getting to know each other.  
He tells you about his Bro.  
You tell him his brother sounds crazy.  
  
You tell him about your dad.  
He tells you that he wishes he could have cake every night.  
  
You talk; talk about grades, and home, and favourites. And it pains you to end the conversation when it's 6:02 and you both have to leave the choir room.  
  
Dave is... He's alright.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already thought up chapter three, and eeeeee, you're all going to love it. It's cute. ;3;  
> And maybe some realisations???  
> Maybe some cuties start thinking about cuties???


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's first football game, yo. ;o  
> I switched the placement of POV's for this one because of how I wanted things to flow. c:

Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you're really excited that you get to wear your special uniform tonight. The only difference for this particular uniform in comparison to the others is that your jacket is all navy, rather than half navy and half white, but it still feels awesome.   
And ultra special.  
  
Speaking of uniforms, while you zip up the front of your own, strange suspender-pants, you almost laugh at loud as Dave comes out of the uniform room in his.   
No, not almost.  
You're laughing.  
  
"Oh my god, Dave. You look ridiculous." You say, in between laughter. He pushes his straps off of his shoulders, probably to feel at least two percent more cool while he sports his half-uniform.   
"Shut up, Egbert, you're wearing the same thing." He mutters, hands now moving to push his bangs back. "For those hat things, do you have like a bobby-pin or something for this shit?"  
  
Oh god.  
He'sgoing to pin his hair up.  
  
"No, ask colour guard. They have like, everything." You respond. He probably doesn't even need a bobby pin for his bangs, but it would be pretty _ironic_. And so you've concluded that his reason behind pinning back his bangs is that. You've made the discovery not too long ago that he's all about irony and boy is it funny watching his so-called ironic lifestyle go down.  
  
He bothers Nepeta for a hair pin, but it ends when all of the chattering ceases while half of the room wonders if they've been called to attention, and the other half is completely aware of what's going on, buzzing with excitement. You look past the shoulder of the tall guy in front of you to see what was happening, and you spot none other than your bands most well known, and oldest alumni, Bob.   
Which can only mean one of two things.  
  
A) Alumni Bob is just here to visit Mr. Combs and cheer on your small band at the game.  
  
or  
  
B) Alumni Bob is here to watch the half time show and change like sixty-percent of the whole drill.  
  
Either way, the band seems pretty stoked that Bob is even here tonight. He's probably the best trumpet player you've ever heard or seen, and when he hits the high notes? Flawless! It absolutely amazes you, every time!  
With the Clarinet, you'd think going up a few octaves would be a lot easier.  
But unfortunately, that's not the case.  
Hitting higher notes just seems to sound worse and worse the father you go, and you're willing to admit to yourself that it does, in all honesty, sound like nails on a chalkboard when you go high up there.  
But when Bob whips out his trumpet, the notes just get better and better. You can tell he's been playing for a long time. He must have really good air support. But, you're only guessing when you think this. It's just something you hear being yelled at the trumpets often for "lacking support" on every high note and/or sticatto ever. That, and providing warm air. Geez, you do  _not_ want to be at the other end of an overblowing trumpet. That would be a painful experience your grandkids would be effected by.  
  
Dave realises that the stirring is just because "some guy" walked in, and resumes his pinning. Afterall, he doesn't really have anything to be excited about. He hasn't heard Alumni Bob play yet. But that will change tonight because in Bob's hands is his trumpet case.  
You love when he plays with you guys during the game!  
He's like the puzzle piece that completes the trumpet section.  
The upper to their lower.  
The bunny to their box.  
Speaking of which, you'll have to bring up movies next time you and Dave have free time.  
  
Alumni Bob warms up the band and gets everyone lined up and ready to march out since Mr. Combs was a little occupied in his office, but the Director finally shows himself and soon enough, you're all at the ready.  
  
"Sollux, call 'em up." Mr. Combs says, and Sollux tucks his own trumpet under his arm to step out of line and raise his hands up. He begins clapping a steady beat, interrupting to shout, "Band, ten hut!"  
Recieving a well deserved,   
  
 _"Hut!"_  
  
...  
  
The strong silence left behind sends chills down your back.  
You love this, too.  
  
"Mark time, march!"   
  
Like a second nature type of deal, your heels automatically move in response, awaiting your next command.   
  
"Forward, march!"   
  
You hear the clicks coming from the battery behind you and you roll-step as small as you can as the lot of you make it out of the doorway and finally into the hallway, where your regular sized marching begins.  
  
 _Just this, and then pre-game._  
You tell yourself, venturing outside with the long line of band members. These football games always lasted so long. You've been to every single home game for the past two years, and it's a miracle that you've managed to retain absolutely none of the information of the actual sport. You actually think the whole band is like this. Besides, no one ever came to your games. If they did, they would come to watch the band perform because thats basically the highlight of the whole event. Your school football team loses every game. You're starting to wonder if they do it on purpose.  
  
You make it out to the field and then the usual pre-game begins. You cheer about "Wiping out the Competition", following the playing of the song, "Wipeout" by the Beach Boys, then comes the National Anthem, and finally the Fight Song, where the football team bursts through some crappily made sign and runs out onto the field.   
And then, you all return to the stands to sit in the cold while playing more music probably heard at least a thousand times by the seniors.  
It sucks at games because of the cold, especially because you're pretty sure that the Clarinet is like the only instrument you can't wear gloves while playing. Meanwhile, half of the band pulls out their own, cozy pair, and chats amongst themselves.  
  
Alumni Bob fills in for Mr. Combs who is probably in his office or something, and stands in the front with Sollux, discussing music.  
  
Dave is three rows behind you on the bleachers.  
  
Jade is already in a conversation and Rose... Well, she's Rose.  
  
So there's pretty much no one to talk to at this point until Bob says some magic words.  
  
"Flutes, switch places with the trumpets."   
Awesome! Now you can bother Dave. Hopefully he'll sit in front of you, because if he didn't, that would defeat the purpose of excitement about your possibly ending boredom.

* * *

  
Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you're cold.  
You've never been this cold in your life.  
Back in Texas, the freezing cold was like a tuesday thing in the middle of summer, so you're used to  _the cold._ But you didn't get out much as it was. Here in Washington, it's like twenty times colder and you're playing a brass instrument?  
There goes your warm days, time to shrivel up like a prune and live in fucking Antarctica, because that's how you feel at the moment.  
But aside from that, you're relieved that this new bald guy is switching your section with the flutes so you can sit in the front. It's not the front your excited about (You're not  _excited_ , lets not say it that way), you're just glad that you can have an excuse to pull out of your one-sided conversation with Vriska (And by that, you mean you couldn't even get a word in) about pirates, just by talking to John. He's like top shit or something apparently, because everyone listens to him.   
And that Sollux guy.  
  
  
You plop yourself down onto the cloth-covered bench directly in front of one John Egbert, and turn to look at him.  
"Sup?" You say, in the coolest voice you could muster without doing something stupid like, oh, you don't know, your whole face turning to ice and then falling off. That would be stupid.   
It's so cold, you're even thinking of stupid reasons as to why you should keep your cool.  
  
"You know, you can take your shako off now." John reminds you, and you glance around to see everyone else with theirs off, making you kind of feel like an idiot. Well, it's not entirely your fault. Your section leader just isn't exactly the best person for the job.  
You remove the tall, black hat from your head and set it down on the empty spot next to you. With only four trumpets, there's more than enough room in your row.  
  
"Pfft. I know that. I was just testing you." You say, though it's clearly obvious to the both of you that you really didn't realise you were allowed to take off the weird hat as soon as you all were seated.  
  
You're about to carry out another conversation with John, but it's interrupted when Sollux shouts, "Cheer 1!", followed by a string of the same word being passed back and stopping once the word hits battery.  
Seeing that you don't really know what Cheer 1 is, you're left confused and it's too late to ask because, fuck, everyone is standing up already, and you're in the front row. When the song starts, however, you instantly recognise it to be that really popular, stereotypical band song and you kind of wing it with the notes. You get pretty close but you can't do it again and fix your mistakes because Sullux ends up bringing the song to end on the third run through.  
  
So you turn back to John.  
  
"Is it normally two degrees outside?" You ask, raising a brow. He nods to this.  
"Yep! What, did you expect Washington to be even warmer at night time?"   
"Well, when you put it that way, the answer seems obvious."  
"Haha. Well, yeah. You should have realised that, dude. But by the time marching season is over, you should be used to the cold so I guess there's no need to worry. You freeze for the greater good!" He says, giving you another one of those signature John Egbert, ridculous grins.  
  
You're not going to lie to yourself when you think he looks kind of cute when he does this.   
  
You're not going to lie when you think he's kind of cute all the time.  
  
But that's a weird thought because you're ninety-percent sure those are homo thought, and seventy percent sure that you are  _not_.  
Only seventy.  
  
"Can I take a picture or your face?"   
  
"Sure."  
  
Wait, shit.   
You forgot to turn of auto pilot more for a second there, and you're silently freaking out about why he would want or need a picture of your face until he holds up his 3DS that you didn't notice before, and you stay still for the photo.  
Once he has it, he goes back to looking at the screen (Assuming he was doing so in the first place) and doing some other stuff to it.  
Now you're even more curious.  
  
"Dude, what are you doing?" You ask him, and in response, he slides down to your row to sit next to you and share his screen.  
"I'm playing Face Raiders." He answers, in a slight monotonous tone, moving the device around as he plays, shooting your distorted face until it explodes.  
Oh.  
Sweet?  
  
This ends though when Alumni Bob tells you all to get ready for the half time show and John sadly puts his 3DS back into the inside pockets of his uniform pants.  
Everyone puts all of their stuff back on and leaves the bleachers to prepare, and you follow them, though you have no idea how this works.   
Someone taps your shoulder and  you automatically turn around, expecting it to be Vriska in all her irritation glory, but you're glad when you're wrong.  
Huh.  
That's new.  
  
"We're just going to play the first movement at standstill because we don't have all of our sets yet." She says, giving you smile almost similar to John's and you wonder if they're related. You think her name is Jade.  
"Thanks."   
  
And, as told, all of you march onto the field and silently set up a block.  
You're nervous as hell but it goes away when everyone starts playing.  
And you start playing.  
Holy shit, you're playing.  
You're surprised you even memorised some of those notes.  
  
When you finish, everyone merges into a line marches off field, walking in circles until the band is in full spiral mode (Weird.) and you hear "Squad.. Hault!"  
  
 _"Skai-a!"_  
  
  
Alumni Bob gives you a well deserved quarter off, and once permitted to break you follow John back to the stands.  
And it's kind of nice.  
  
You don't really notice when the quarter ends because you're so busy talking to John until you're all told to play "Don't Stop Believing".  
  
You don't really notice when the game ends and everyone is cheering because the team probably won or something.  
  
You just notice... Well, John.  
  
And how excited he looks.  
  
He's saying something, but the cheering is outweighing his voice, but that's okay.  
It feels okay.  
  
It feels more than okay looking up at the cheering dork in beside you because--  
  
Wait.  
  
 _Whoa._  
  
Back that train up, Dave.  
  
You are  _not_ in love with John Egbert.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, thank you for reading. ;3;  
> Oh, and to clarify if anyone may be confused in the slightest, John is a Drum Major, however he is the assistant Drum Major which is why he isn't calling commands. He's like the equivalent of a guard Co-Captain. c:
> 
> Anywhooo, eeeee. 
> 
> Daaavey, bby.  
> You and John are meant to be, okay, yes, please fall in love and become band dads.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so Marching Season officially began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted in ages. 3  
> The next update will be perf, I promise.  
> Marching band has been taking up my time lately because championships, and /screams I will miss this years show so much.  
> We got to use actual katanas. :'3 I'll find a video or something.
> 
> John's POV isn't too lengthy, but deal with it, dearies.  
> It's almost my bed time. ;3; I stayed up for you.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you're stuck in a car with three other trumpets.  
And John.  
  
Okay, you were expecting to be going to competitions in places an hour or more away, but you weren't expecting that you guys seriously had to ride in car. Apparently, there were some transportation problems, so for the first competition, the boosters will be driving you. Alright, maybe it's a lot better than being cramped in a hot, sweaty school bus, but still. You can literally feel the awkward as the four of them chatter away and you just, well, sit there.  
To ease the boredom, you take out your iPod and listen to some of the sickest beats you own, probably loud enough for them to vaguely hear it, but you don't really care. They aren't paying attention, anyways.  
You're just glad you got a window seat as you look out onto the freeway, your finger tapping along to the beat, and your hand forcing itself not to start playing the role of a conductor.  
Hah.  
That'd be weird.  
...  
  
You're so into the music that you don't notice when John leans over, and then the ear plug is being pulled out of your ear.  
"Dude, what the fu--"  
  
His hand slaps over your mouth, giving you a stern look. You swear, if he looked anymore disapproving, he'd get those dad-wrinkles on his forehead.  
  
"Dave, we can't use those words in front of the parents, it looks bad." He whispers to you, and you end up licking his hand ("Grossss.") to make him pull away.  
  
"I was right at the bass drop, John. Sh-- Stuff was getting serious." You correct yourself. This is actually a little harder than you thought, especially because changing up your words interrupts the rhythmic flow of your dialect.  
Not  cool.  
John just rolls his eyes at your response, and jumps right back into saying what he was going to say before you swore.  
  
"Isn't your Bro coming?" He asks.  
  
Oh.  
  
Oh god.  
  
How could you forget something so crucial?  
You've been bugging the crap out of Egbert about this ever since it was announced when and where your first competition would be held.  
And your brother has been bugging you just as much.  
You're not excited to know your brother is coming to bother you today at your first comp. Not only is he a pain in the ass, but he's a pain in the ass that never goes away.  
  
"Yeah, he'll be there. Avoid him at all costs. He's a pretty shady character, so it wont be too difficult to spot him out and know where to hide." You finally respond, looping the ear plug he had pulled out earlier around the top of your available ear.  
  
"Isn't he the guy who jogs around the neighborhood at night, with the weird puppet?" Someone asks, and you know it's not John because his lips aren't moving.  
Not that you were paying attention to his lips or anything.  
That would be weird.  
  
You look up and meet the eyes of Sollux, a curious look on his face. To be honest, you're kind of nervous to talk to the guy. Even though you're new to this "marching band" thing, his Drum Major status is intimidating. Sure, John is one of those. But you talk to John on a daily basis.  
This is different.  
Sollux is like... head bitch around here.  
What if you say something weird and he ends up thinking you're totally lame? You feel like you would shatter your cool kid appearance in front of the band kids.  
You haven't answered in a while, so you decide to go ahead and respond.  
  
"How'd you know?" You raise a brow.  
"He wears shades at night. How many people do you know that actually _do_ that?"  
  
Huh.  
He's got a pretty valid point.  
You and your bro are the only ones crazy enough to wear huge ass shades on your face no matter what the time of day is, or the weather.  
You're pretty sure all of the band is aware of your habits already.  
  
"Dave, when do you ever take them off?" John asks, sitting up a little in his seat, and if he were standing, he'd be on his toes right now, awaiting your answer.  
"When I get ready to hit the hay."  
You're guessing his answer shocks him because his jaw drops.  
  
"Seriously? That's the only time?"  
"I take them off before we hit the field, too."  
 _"Why?"_  
"Pfft. Do I have to have a reason?"  
"Yes!"  
  
There is a reason.  
And that reason?  
Well, let's just say you don't have the _best_ experience with letting people see your eyes.  
Yeah, yeah, "they're just eyes dave, oh my gosh".  
People just don't exactly react that well when it comes to seeing someone with crimson coloured eyes.  
So you've been putting on these contacts lately because apparently you can't wear sunglasses on the field. When people notice your "blue" eyes, they think nothing of it.  
Though they have been irritating the shit out of your eyes, the contacts.  
  
"Oh look, we're stopping."  
  
The booster pulls up in the parking lot of a school, and the other cars follow in after. Oooh shit, you're at the competition.  
You're hours away from competing and you're so stoked.  
John doesn't get distracted as easily though, and says, "We're talking about this later."  
  
Yeah right.  
  
You get out of the van and stretch, before you're all instructed to set up your instruments. So once you do this, you head off with the brass section and practice, practice, practice.  
Before you know it, everyone is in line and about to take the field.  
  
Oh god.  
  
You've never been more nervous in your life.  
  
You're marching out onto the field, and you're freaking terrified.  
  
This is it.  
  
There's no turning back.  
  
 _Why did I do this?_  
  
You warm up and head to the first set, the top of the show.  
  
 _What if I screw this up?_  
  
Across the way, Sollux's hands go up and so does your trumpet.  
You were forced into this role, and here you are, trying to look as prideful of possible.  
  
Because... Well, you kind of are.  
  
And when you start playing it really sinks in that you were put here for a reason. You don't know why but you can feel it.  
  
This is where you're meant to be.  
  


* * *

  
Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you may or may not be using Dave as a pillow at the moment.  
His brother ended up coming to watch but that was all he came for, to watch. After you guys finished, he stuck around for a few minutes to declare he's going to become a booster parent one day, but you think he only said that to bother Dave. They're a lot a like, in your opinion. Dave disagrees.  
  
  
Anyways, back to the initial statement.  
  
You're totally using Dave as a pillow, and he's surprisingly okay with it. At first, you were just messing around with each other and your head ended up on his shoulder and just didn't move. He smells really nice, you note. Kind of like apples. Not like the green apple smell you get in a bottle, it's sweeter. Like apple juice.  
Dave is staring ahead at the other bands and the two of you have gone quiet, preoccupied by your own things.  
Your town in AC:NL isn't as interesting as Dave is.  
  
You've been really interested in Dave lately.  
Weird.  
  
Your eyes drift away from the screen to look up at him and you can tell he notices this because he stirrs a little, moving his own head to look back at you.  
"Hm?" He wonders, but you shake your head.  
"Nothing."  
  
You can see just under his shades and you notice that, whoa, his eyelashes are really blonde. You can't really tell what colour his eyes though but you think they're blue. It almost looks red from your position, but you brush it off as your own eyes acting up. It's been a long day.  
  
The sun sets and it starts getting colder, so of course, you shiver. Dave looks at you as soon as this happens.  
"Didn't you have a jacket earlier?" He asks you, raising a brow.  
  
Fuuuck, you did.  
You think you left it in the band room.  
  
"I forgot it." You say, but he doesn't see this as a suitable answer because, oh gosh, he's pulling his sweatshirt out of his bag. You'd be lying if you said this isn't the nicest thing someone in band has done for you, besides them having a funeral for your tamagotchi.  
"Here." He says, handing it to you.  
"I-I can't, you're going to get cold."  
"Take it, Egbert. I'll be fine, seriously."  
You hesitate, but he gives it another gentle shove your way and you finally take it. You pull on the bright red jacket and immediately, you're pretty warm. It's got a gear on the front, but you don't think about it, like where he got it or anything. It just strikes you that you're wearing _his_ jacket, and you're pretty sure it's his favourite. He's almost always wearing it.  
You're wearing Dave's jacket.  
It smells like apples, and a little like ramen, and, well, _Dave_.  
You're getting butterflies, nope. That would be weird, and Dave is weird, this is stupid.  
  
You mutter and thank you and rest your head back onto his shoulder, and he doesn't say a word about it.  
The two of you are silent again, bonding by touch rather than rambling so much.  
Your hand finds his, and his finds yours, and soon enough you're holding pinkies.  
  
This is the first time you haven't paid attention because it shocks you when your band mates start cheering and you find out you guys placed third.  You're just really, _really_ tired.  
All of the competing bands are given their results and then finally, you go back to the parking lot.  
It's all a blur from there.  
You remember getting into the car, and sitting next to Dave.  
You're lulled to sleep by his breathing, and it saddens you when you have to get out when you get back to the school.  
When your dad picks you up, you almost fall asleep during the ten minute car ride but you stay up long enough to get inside and into your room.  
  
You don't, however, stay _awake_ long enough to realise you're still wearing Dave's jacket.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn about John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey howdy, this isn't a happy chapter.

Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you  _totally_ didn't sleep in Dave's hoodie or anything.  
You  _definitely_ didn't look at yourself in the mirror while wearing it.  
And you  _absolutely did not_ keep it on all day.  
  
Two truths, one lie?  
  
Trick question, they're all true.  
  
At this point, you think it's time to break out the big guns and really figure out whats going on. Your head is a great big puzzle and you are the confused as hell teenager trying to put it together.  
Besides, today is... Something big you don't want to think about.

You sign onto Pesterchum.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began trolling tentacleTherapist [TT] \--  
  
EB: rose, i have a slight problem.  
EB: okay, a huge problem.  
EB: oh my god, what am i going to do!  
TT: Due to the fact that you're actually pestering me for help, I'm going to safely assume that this has to do with your feelings.  
TT: What's the problem?  
EB: i don't know.  
TT: You don't know?  
EB: i'm just really confused about my feelings towards someone.  
TT: And this someone is..?  
EB: it's a secret.  
TT: Well, what has you confused about your feelings?  
EB: at first, i was one hundred percent sure we were the best of bros.  
EB: but yesterday i kind of just.. looked at them. really looked at them.  
EB: and ever since i can't stop thinking about them and i don't know what's going on in my head at the moment.  
EB: aaand let me guess, you're laughing right now?  
TT: It's a friendly chuckle, John.  
TT: From what I hear, I think you're developing a crush on this person.  
TT: However, to be certain if these are real feelings or not, I suggest you try and imagine what it would be like if you two were actually in a relationship. If you can't, or maybe wouldn't like seeing yourself in that position then your confusion is bound to pass.   
  
  
  
Taking Rose's advise, you think about this throughout the day. It's a pretty good distraction too.  
And when dinner time rolls around, there is a faint blush on your cheeks because you wouldn't mind having dinner with Dave. You wouldn't mind  _making_ dinner for Dave. A small laugh slips past your lips at the thought of Dave trying to cook for you because by his eating habits, you can just tell he doesn't make more than phone calls to the Chinese food place. You would be okay with babying him one day.  
  
"Are you alright, Jonathan?" Your father asks, picking up on your distracted eating. He's nearly done, and you aren't even half way there yet. You blame Dave.  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired from yesterday." You say, taking a bite of your mashed potatoes. He still looks a little concerned, but he nods in semi-acceptance.   
"Make sure you finish all of your milk."   
"I will."  
  
  
It's quiet.  
  
  
"John.."  
  
You look up from your food, hearing the still saddened tone in his voice.  
  
"You don't have to hide anything from me." He says, and you know what he's hinting at.  
"Dad, I said I'm fine." You answer, knowing that he's just trying to get you to talk.   
But not about Dave.  
About your day, how you  _are._  
Because today marks the first anniversary of your mothers passing and you've been using Dave as an excuse all day to distract yourself from thinking about it.  
Or maybe you've been using his stupid, red jacket to comfort yourself because hey, you can't help that you feel safer wearing it, feeling Dave's presence.  
  
  
It's gone quiet again, and you think he's trying to find another way into your barrier.  
The table feels empty.  
It's felt that way for a while now.  
  
You try not to think about it, but every once in a while, days like these come up, when you remember.

You remember the warm, gentle touch your mother had, her bluest of blue eyes and dark hair.  
  
You remember her sweet laugh, and how much you and your father loved making her chuckle and snicker on occasion.  
  
You remember every christmas, the three of you making dinner together, and everyday in between when you tried to keep this habit up. It didn't work out with your fathers schedule and all.  
  
You remember playing piano for her on the days she wasn't feeling well, and this was something that happened a lot around this time. It was... unsettling.

  
You remember joining band back when you were in middle school, to distract yourself from the fact that your mom was diagnosed with Chronic Leukemia.   
  
  
You remember it clear as day, and you _hate_ it.  
  
  
You hate that you  _remember_ going into ninth grade, and being happy because she was getting better and could finally come watch you perform at your first and last Marching Band competition. You were in the big leagues, you felt like a pro band kid. She was to proud of you.  
  
You hate that you remember going into tenth grade and being confused and angry,  _so angry_ , that her cancer was getting worse when it felt like just yesterday she was laughing and smiling and perfectly healthy.  
  
You hate that you remember being in the hospital that night.  
  
You hate that you remember, with tears in your eyes, trying to keep up your failing smile as you listened to her cheesy jokes about how you're going to start needing to shave soon because you're growing a beard.  
  
You hate that you remember not being able to do anything when she took her last breath and your father held you, held you as you frantically shouted for the doctors, nurses,  _anyone_ to come  _save_ her.   
  
But it was too late.  
  
And it's too late to stop the stray tear that rolls off of your cheek and lands on your hand below.  
Your father places a hand on your shoulder but you quickly turn around and stand up, pulling him into a hug.  
And you do something you haven't done in a while.  
You cry.  
  
You downright sob, and your father, as pained as he is on his own, comforts you like he has done since the beginning.  
  
Maybe your family isn't as "perfect" as it used to be but... You're really glad you have your dad.  
  
"I-I'm sorry.." You mutter into his chest, his white button up now stained with your tears. He doesn't mind though.  
"You don't have to apologize, Jonathan." He says, giving you a light squeeze. He smells of aftershave and cake, and it's the greatest scent in a world right now.   
"How about you and I have a traditional father-son bonding day tomorrow?" He asks, pulling away from the hug to look at you.  
A small, nostalgic smile makes its way onto your mouth and you nod.  
"I'll take you to band practice, if you wish." He suggests, which you also nod to. Can't miss a rehearsal, that's crazy talk.  
You thank him quietly, and for the rest of the night, you lay in bed, anticipating the day ahead of you tomorrow.   
You have to give Dave's hoodie back anyways.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave admits his feelings to himself, and John is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates on one week, what up bitch.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you're tired as hell.  
  
It's currently... Uh. Hold on.  
  
You put on your shades and proceed to squint at the time on your way too bright cell phone.  
  
 _1:15 pm.  
  
_ Holy shit, you got a lot of sleep. You didn't necessarily sleep during the whole duration of getting home and now, but whenever you woke up the few times you did this morning, you just turned and forced yourself back to sleep. Now that it's like the fourth time you've woken up, you're starting to feel nauseous from all of this freaking sleep. Is it going to be like his after _every_ competition? You hope not. It if is, your introverted social life will be brutally crushed under this recent sleeping schedule.  
  
With an exhausted groan, you roll off of your bed and fall on the floor, quite frankly, too tired to care. You scramble to your feet and zombie walk to the bathroom, turning on the shower only to awkwardly stand there while you wait for it to heat up. By the time it _is_ hot, you're only just getting your clothes off. It's so hot, jesus christ. You take a thirty minute shower, waking you up and getting rid of that gross feeling you had, and scurry back to your room, a towel wrapped around your waist. However, you aren't awake enough to remember you had a crazy brother hiding around the house until there is a smuppet in your face, and a creepy ass puppet guarding your bedroom door.  
"Really, Bro?" You say, unwinding a loose thread that hung off of the smuppet from your shades, causing the brightly coloured puppet to fall to the floor. You know him well enough to figure out the guy is standing behind you, so in one fluid movement your jab your elbow back, intending to hit him.  
But he's too fast.  
Before you even get to blink, his hand is on your arm, and he's turning you around.  
  
"How was the competition?" He asks, as if nothing even happened.  
"Long." You respond, turning back to open the door, stepping around Cal and quickly picking out the cleanest pair of boxers in sight to put on. Can't be strifing with your junk hangin' out. That shit ain't cool.  
"Did you guys win?"  
"We placed."  
"Did _you_ win?"  
"Dude, I just told you."  
"I'm talking about if you scored with the glasses kid."  
  
Oh.  
So... he noticed?  
Welp. Here comes weeks of torment.  
  
"Dude, I don't know what you're talking about." You say, looking around for a shirt as he walks into the room, but purely to occupy yourself.  
"Well, you let him wear your jacket home. A texan like yourself letting someone wear their jacket in the dead of the night? Sounds to me like you're in love with this guy--"  
"Whoa, let's not take it that far."  
"So you _do_ like him?"  
"I never said that."  
"It was implied."  
You pull on a white t-shirt you found strewn across your desk chair, which you find odd until you spot the hole in the left arm pit. Huh. You were going to fix that, weren't you?  
Whatever, you'll do it later.  
  
Your brother still has that slick smirk on his face and you just want to smack it off of him. Okay, he was totally right on some twisted level. You're actually starting to harbor some feelings for Egbert, and wow, that's probably the first time you admitted it to yourself.  
Maybe it happened right before that first football game, when you two joked and played silly get-to-know-you games as he strung together chords and created ridiculous songs. You found out he can't sing that night. But you didn't really care because it was just so beautiful.  
Or maybe it happened at the competition. You tried to convince yourself that John was just chilly and bros let bros nuzzle up to them. But after some thinking during the car ride home, you started to grow suspicious of.. Well, yourself.  
  
"We're not talking about this right now, Bro." You tell him, throwing a flip flop at him. He chuckles at your attempt, but he gets the message and takes his leave. Of course, not without tossing back a, "I have condoms if you need them".  
  
You _really_ hate him sometimes.

* * *

  
You're still DAVE STRIDER, only, it's the following Monday, and--  
Dude, where's John?  
  
  
You haven't seen him all day, and you've officially declared that JOHN EGBERT IS MISSING.  
  
Okay.  
Not _missing_.  
But it's weird that he's absent, he's never absent.  
  
Your curiousity, however, meets its answer when you go to the band room for last period, and John is in the corner of the room, leaning against a table as he talks Pokemon X and Y with a few other band members. You swear, that's the only game besides Mario Kart and Animal Crossing that these band kids play. You don't bother him though because he looks like he's having fun over there, his clarinet already set up and on the table beside him.  
And, well, you don't want to embarrass yourself.  
Goddamn crushes.  
  
You don't even bother him later, either, because most of the time is spent listening to the judges comments and doing field work. Your two minute break doesn't really suffice because you needed _water_ after running though the opener like twenty times. It isn't until the end of the day when John stops you to chat after you're all dismissed.  
"Dave! We haven't spoken all day. What's up?" He asks, joining you on your walk back to the band room.  
"Nothing too interesting. Is it just me, or were you gone all day?" You raise a brow, finally popping the question that's been on your mind these past few hours.  
"Yeah, I was hanging out with my dad. We needed a bonding day today becausee.. some stuff." He answers, and you look over at him. For a brief moment, he looks a little glum but he snaps out of it. You don't drop the subject though.  
"Come on, Egbert. Tell me whats up."  You say, nudging him with your elbow.  
He's silent for about ten seconds before taking a deep breath.  
  
"My mom died a year ago, so we were kind of just... Taking a break?"  
  
Oh..  
  
You don't really know what to say, seeing that you don't really remember too much about your parents. To be honest, you don't even remember your childhood up until you were seven. So in a way, you don't even remember almost half of your life. Your brother never talks about it no matter how much you ask, which pisses you off to no end but.. If he died, you'd be pretty fucked.  
  
"Sorry." You say, and you genuinely mean it. You don't have a lot of serious conversations, but you're cool with having one with John, in case he wants to talk about it or something, and you tell him just that.  
He gives a little nod in response before cracking a smile and shoving you lightly.  
"Dude, let's talk about something else. You have a pesterchum, right?" He asks, as the two of you enter the band room and move to put away your instruments. As soon as your trumpet is put away in like two seconds, you return to him.  
"Yeah."  
He takes his reed off and slides it into its small, plastic containter before zipping up his clarinet case and slinging it across his shoulder.  
"Do you have a pencil and paper or something?" He asks, which you nod to and give him what he needs. He then hastily scribbles something and hands it to you. "Message me!" John says with a smile before waving and leaving the band room to probably meet his dad.  
  
You look down at the piece of paper.  
  
 **ectoBiologist**  
  
Maybe you will.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave comes to Friday Family Game Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Rose and Roxy!

EB: you're coming over tonight, right?  
TG: yeah man  
TG: wouldnt miss it for the world  
TG: im pumped  
TG: your egbertian family game night is going to be hella rad with this strider coming along  
EB: haha, okay.  
EB: but, dude, it's going to run pretty late.  
EB: do you want to just spend the night?  
TG: id have to ask my bro  
TG: i guess it would be p fun  
TG: we can watch some of your lame movies and play mario kart after  
EB: my movies aren't lame.  
EB: you don't know what you're talking about.  
EB: but yeah, it'd be awesome.  
TG: sweet  
TG: let me just pack some jammies and ill be there at like…  
TG: six  
EB: cool.

 

Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you're kind of nervous. When you invited Dave over to this fridays family game night with you and your dad, you hadn't really expected him to be so chill about it. FGN didn't really seem like a Dave thing, but when you think about it, Dave's kind of a huge dork so it's not that big of a surprise that he's actually coming. ("Seriously? Family Game Night? … Sure, Egbert. I'd love to.") But… now he's spending the night. 

 

Oh my god, Dave is spending the night. 

You need to be super cool and… ah, crap, you need to tidy your room up a little and make sure your dad doesn't do anything weird. Like bake a million cakes or something. It's not that you _don't_ _like_ cake, you're kind of just tired of eating it. Your dad makes it practically every day, so of course, it's only natural that you're growing tired of all that frosting and moist bread.  
Haha, Dave hates that word.  
 _Moist_.

 

You look at the time on your watch, _4:50,_ before getting out of your seat and stretching.

An hour and ten minutes.

You can get everything done in an hour and ten minutes.

 

As speedily and as thoroughly as you can, you put back all of your loose clothes, hide away your tools of trickery, and head downstairs to ask about the sleepover.

 

"Daad," you begin, entering the kitchen and leaning against the counter as your dad cooked away. The oven was on, so you assume it's either a part of dinner, or he's baking dessert for tonight. "Can Dave spend the night?" You ask, taking a quick glance around the room for any signs of ingredients. So far, it looked like he was making Italian food. There were no Betty Crocker brand cake mixes in the area, but eggs, flour, frosting, and all of those other ingredients sat disturbed on the counter. Well, at least it's made from scratch. If you ever had to eat cake, you rather it be made by your dad. Or… Anyone besides that Betty Crocker witch, really. She's taking over everything, and it's stupid.

 

Dad nods, moving to stir a pot of tomato sauce. "I don't see why not.” He says, turning to give you one of his fatherly smiles. “Is he going to partake in family game night with us?”  
“Yeah. So... Please don't do anything _embarrassing_.” You plead, only to draw a small chuckle out of your father.  
“What do you mean?”  
You sigh. “Every time people come over here, you bring out baby pictures and tell these childhood stories. I don't really want Dave to see five year old me in the bathtub.” Your dad laughs again, more heartily this time, but he seems to get the message.  
“Alright, fine. I'll do my best.” He says, and you quickly thank him before leaving the kitchen. There was still more to be done, and you needed to do that now before Dave got here. And according to your watch, you've only got about forty minutes left.  
  
You head upstairs and into your room to fetch a few choice Wii games including Mario Kart, Super Smash Bros. Brawl, and of course, Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles (You'll play that when you're dad isn't nearby). Then, you take a few of your favourite movies as well, for later, before bringing it all downstairs and laying it out in front of the living room TV.  
  
Thirty minutes.  
  
You load up the popcorn maker and pop enough for the three of you to share, and return back to the living room to take out the board games, card games, ect. There's a huge collection of games in your house, but flipping through all of them would waste a lot of precious time, you don't have.  
  
Ten minutes.  
  
You pour the now popped kernels into a large bowl, sporting the word _popcorn_ that had been smeared on the side years ago with green paint in the handwriting of a five year old. Aha, memories. This goes on the coffee table along with the rest of the family oriented games such as charades, and apples-to-apples. You freaking love that game.  
  
There isn't really much to do at this point, so you wait until Dave's arrival, eyeing the clock pretty much every single time it ticked. At exactly 6:00, the doorbell rings, and with a very excited, “I'll get it!”, you hurry over to the door and open it up for Dave. He's wearing what he wore a little earlier that day during band practice, which is funny because so are you. His shades are firmly in place, and he's got a backpack slung over his shoulder. He gives you a small nod and a smile before saying, “Hey, Egbert. Come here often?”  
Pfft.  
It's _ironic_ how big a dork he is.  
“Just come in, Dave, before you hurt yourself.” You muse, pulling him by the wrist into your threshold. “Daad, Dave is here.” You call out, and as if on cue, your father steps into the room, flour starting to form a small white spot on his arm sleeve. He holds out his hand to shake Dave's, and after a few hesitations on shaking his hand, Dad just goes out to shake it himself.  
“Hello. You must be Dave. I've heard plenty about you.” He says, which you didn't actually see coming. Dave is probably looking at you now from behind his shades, but whatever.  
  
  
“What do you want to play first? It's guest choice when guests come.” You say, showing him further into the living room and gesturing towards any one of the open seats on the couch, and in the armchair. He sits in the middle of the couch and shrugs a little, letting his backpack hit the floor beside him. “You should pick.” He says, but you quickly refuse.  
“Nope, it's gotta be you.”  
“Dude, just pick, it's fine.”  
“Daaaave.”  
Geez, okay, lets play... is that Candy Land?” Dave asks, pointing at the board game sitting on the corner of the coffee table, buried under a few others of the same objective. You love Candy Land. You've been waiting for the day you can actually play it with someone else besides your dad, and that time is now.  
“Did you want to play that?” He better say yes...  
“Hell yeah, man. Candy Land is the sh-- best game ever.” His newfound word stumbling probably means your dad just walked in right in the middle of Dave cursing. You could feel the word coming on, it was pretty obvious. But Dad pretends he didn't here anything and takes a seat in the arm chair.  
  
“Are we kicking it off with Candy Land?” He asks, crossing his hands over his lap, and you nod in response. Dave takes the initiative to slide the game out from under Monopoly, and push some things to the side as he spreads out the game, making room for all of the pieces and elbow room. Most of the prior games end up on the floor but neither of you really care. It's Candy Land. When you actually _start_ playing the game, you figure Dave must be an expert or something at it, because he looks so serious. On several occasions, you caught him muttering to himself about spaces and strategies and on several occasions, you caught yourself laughing.  
  
By the end of the game, he wins, you come in second, and your dad, third, but he vows to catch up in a good ol' game of charades. And he wasn't kidding, either. He pulls ahead in the rankings, tieing with Dave for first place. From there on, Family Game Night becomes the most fun it's ever been in, well, a year now. Maybe it was the fact that three players really spice up the rankings. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that FGN with your best bro and your dad is just a given success. Both of them were probably correct, but you have a feelings it was because of something deeper than that. You choose not to think about it.  
  
You dad ends up winning overall, as promised, you place second, and Dave places third, but none of you really care about what you got. As your father leaves the room to give the two of you some “boy time”, he tells you that there's food prepared in the kitchen along with dessert, not forgetting to remind Dave to call him Dad and not something as formal as Mr. Egbert. It'll take some time getting used to, he says, but he's cool with that.  
  
The sleepover with Dave officially commences now, and you have to admit, it's not as scary as you initially thought it would be. You play Mario Kart and kick his ass _many, many_ times. But that's where the winning streak stops, because he one-ups you in the other ones. You're fine with that, though, because you can safely admit that Mario Kart is the only game you're totally pro at.  
You are the Mario Kart king, it is you.  
Dave is just a well-rounded video game guy.  
  
When you're both whooped and full from the amazing food your dad made, you go up into your room. And, it was a total accident. You forgot completely, slipped your mind.  
But Dave's hoodie from a week ago is laying on your bed, and you guess you have no choice but to give it back now.  
Um.  
Wait, that sounds bad.  
  
You don't want to _keep_ the hoodie or anything, it's Dave's.  
But you don't want to give it up so soon either.  
  
Gosh, you're so tongue tied, so it's Dave who finally speaks up and pulls you out of your mini panic mode.  
“I forgot about that.” He says, but you know he probably didn't and was most likely saying that so you wouldn't continue to freak out about it. You calm down.  
“Haha, yeah. Did you want it back..?”  
 _Say no.  
_ “You can hold onto it if you want.”  
 __  
Okay, let's be honest here, you were almost 90% expecting a, “Dude it's fucking cold here of course I want it back, are you crazy”. You haven't seen him wear any other jacket, ever. His response makes you raise a questioning brow.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
“Positive.”  
“Aren't you going to freeze?”  
“Nah, I'm fine.”  
“Wait.” You hold your hand up before heading over to your closet door and sliding it open just enough for you to reach in and pull out another hoodie in light blue, a wind symbol ornating the front. “Here.” You offer.  
  
And...  
Well.  
You think... you think Dave _blushes_.  
And your mind is so confused right now, you can't decide between thinking he looks cute, or if it's lame. You've never really _thought_ this way about another guy before. It's kind of scary. No, you're not a homophobe, that label is reserved for the douche bags in the world, this is just kind of a big change and you don't know how to deal with it. You think you'll just try and ignore that gut feeling from now on, because it's a pain to process.  
Dave is your _best_ bro.  
You can't.  
You wont.  
  
“I guess that evens out the score then, huh?” Dave says, gaining back his composure, but you have to lay the jacket on top of his head to get him to take it anyways, resulting in him freaking out about his hair, and you laughing about how lame that sounds.  
Which _then_ results into a playful argument about which one of you truly is lame, and you discover Dave is ticklish and use it to your advantage. And then, well. You're on the floor now. Panting, and laughing, even though neither of you are touching each other anymore. You look over at him, a wide grin on your face.  
He's not grinning as wide as you are but he still smiles, his shades slightly ajar.  
But he soon realises this is a mistake.  
Because you see it.  
You see his eyes.  
It might have been for a split second, because he quickly readjusts them but you _know_ what you saw, and his scarlet irises leave you in a daze.  
  
“Dave..”  
“I know.”  
“Dave...”  
“We don't have to discuss how much of a freak I am, thank y--” You cup a hand over his mouth.  
“Shh. Dave, you're not a freak.” He mumbles something in response, but your hand isn't allowing it to come out audibly enough for you to try and decipher, so you just continue. “They're pretty.” You say with a small smile, before correcting yourself. “Pretty – Pretty awesome.”  
You don't think he believes you all the way but he doesn't say anything about it when you uncover his mouth.  
“We should get to bed, dude.” He says, and to this, you can't help but agree.  
“We're gonna sleep in my bed, it's big enough to have room and then some.”  
He nods, and the both of you get up, realising just how drained the two of you are. You and Dave climb into the bed, having already been in your pajamas since you guys played your 9 th round of Mario Kart, and immediately, you're immersed into sleep.  
  
You dream about Mario.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /whispers keep up with updates on tumblr if you wanna.
> 
> octagonexplorer.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rose brings up an important point to her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's not super lengthy like the last chapter but I was drifting in and out of sleep when I typed this yesterday. Enjoy.~

  
Your name is DAVE STRIDER and things are getting a little weird. For one, when you went back to school on Monday after that sleepover, John seemed kind of... flustered. Is that even the right word..? I mean, you're almost eighty percent sure the guy doesn't like you that way, but when you walked into the band room wearing his hoodie, he nearly jumped out of his skeleton. You only wore it because it was like two degrees outside, and you sure as hell are not freezing your ass off because you don't want to freak out John. Besides, it's a really nice hoodie. Even though you're a little bit taller than him, it's still a tad bit big on you; Just the way you like it. And... it has this really nice smell, like cookie dough and laundry detergent.  
But that's beside the point.  
  
John silently flipping his shits when he saw you wasn't the only thing out of the ordinary that week. The next day, he came to school in _your_ hoodie and you noticed it waaayy before you even had band practice. That wasn't even the weird part. The weird part was when you actually vocalised your opinion on how much it suits him, and the tips of his ears turned pink, much like his cheeks did, and instead of responding, he quickly “found” something else to do and scurried off.  
  
And to top it all off, with this whole “john-likes-to-avoid-joking-around” game going on, someone actually notices you two and points it out, loud and clear.  
And, oh, lovely, it's your sister.  
You guys are only half siblings, but you both look a hell of a lot a like in pretty much every way possible, except for the fact that she has boobs, looks too goth for your tastes, and has lavender coloured eyes. You wish you got eyes like those, instead of your red ones. You would trade them in a heartbeat, but that would make you feel a little too... _Lalonde_. And god forbid, you become anything like a Lalonde. They're a whole different breed of human, each one of them specialising in writing wizard porn and pretty much being the smartest person one will ever meet in their entire lifetime. You can vouch for this, personally.  
  
You're just glad she chose to badger you about it when you two were alone, which didn't happen often, but you had to go drop off a book in the library you owed weeks, and weeks ago. Rose, as expected, was there, and boy was she excited. You haven't seen that delighted glint in her eyes since the time you had a nightmare in fourth grade and decided to tell her about it. Even then, your sis was a great pain in the ass when it came to your personal problems. If there was a fan club for you, she would be the president. She knows more about you than you do yourself, you hate to admit, but she can gather a lot about you from only a few conversations. You think she wants to be a Therapist. How shocking.  
  
It was when you were about to leave the library that she caught up to you and followed you out the door.  
“Hello, Dave. It's been a while, hasn't it? You stopped coming over since the summer ended.” She says, and you know it's all a load of bullshit because you know your sister.  
“I'm not talking about it.” You say, sticking your hands into your pockets – John's pockets – and shortening your step size so she wont have to fast walk in order to keep up with you.  
  
Haha. __  
Step size.  
  
No, wait, stop that, Dave, you're becoming a band geek.  
 _I already am_.  
  
“It's going to have to come out eventually, and if you think John is going to be the one to do it, you're wrong there. The boy is as oblivious as your brothers current boyfriend.” She tells you, and you snicker a little because of how unbelievably true it is. Jake English and John Egbert trapped in the same room? They wouldn't even realise they're locked in there until the three minute mark.  
But then you wipe the smirk off of your face because now you're thinking about how the hell she knew it was John.  
Scratch that, you're asking.  
In a way.  
  
“I don't like John that way.”  
You totally do, but this is _Rose_. You need to weasel around things in order to find out how much she knows, much like right now.  
“It's extremely obvious, Dave. I'm surprised the wedding invitations haven't been sent out yet.”  
“What are you talking about, Lalonde?”  
“You're wearing his sweater--”  
“It's cold as fuck.”  
“--And he's wearing yours--”  
“I lent it to him and forgot about getting it back.”  
“-- And not to mention, you two have been ogling each other for days.” You realise she has a good point. Rose was more observant than most, sure, but when she pointed out something was _extremely_ obvious, it's at least somewhat obvious to most people who try paying attention long enough. “John tells me you're ticklish.”  
  
And that's when you stop walking. If you were drinking something, you would have a major spit-take moment right now.  
“W-What?”  
Okay, _how_ the hell does she know that? She knows that you're ticklish, you two grew up around each other, but you don't know whether or not she's telling you this to just fuck with you, or if John legit told her about Friday night.  
  
“You didn't know? I've been in concert band since middle school, Dave. Do I have to spell it out for you?”  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Oh._  
Shit.  
  
So, she totally _knows_ John, and you-- Wow. Really blanked that one, congratulations, coolkid.  
  
“Yes, judging by the look your eyebrows are giving me, I'm going to assume you now know that I happen to be friends with your current crush. I suggest you talk to him about it. On that note, I must go attend to... other duties. Goodbye, Dave.” She says, a sly smile on her face as she waves at you once, before turning to leave. She stops for a moment to talk to someone and it takes you a moment to recognise that it's John. There's head shaking, and nose wrinkling (John is so cute when he does that), and he walks over to you.  
You weren't staring. Pfft.  
  
“Hey Dave! Isn't Rose your sister?” He asks, gripping the straps of his backpack down by his waist and you just nod.  
“Haha, that's funny. She, Jade, and I were pretty much best friends in middle school so it's weird I never knew you then. And, oh my god, Dave, guess what she told me?”  
Uh.  
What is he talking about?  
You swear, if Rose told..  
  
“She totally thinks we're into each other. That's the silliest thing I've ever heard.”  
  
 _Awesome._  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOHHHHHH SNAP.
> 
> on another note
> 
> I might not update until Monday because I only got one paragraph done last night, and my band is marching in a parade tonight. But I'll have at least two chapters if not more at the ready when Monday rolls around, and I mooch off of school wifi--.
> 
> In the meantime, feel free to bother me about updating, tell me your davejohn headcanons, or anything really.  
> http://octagonexplorer.tumblr.com/


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John tries and fails to come to terms with his feelings and more.

  
  
Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you don't know what to do.  
You're worried.  
About yourself, about Dave, everything.  
  
You've never really thought about... well... swinging that way. It's just never crossed your mind. You've never seen a guy and thought, “hey, i'd like to be his romantic partner”. But then Dave rolled around and the thought has been floating around in your mind for ages. You weren't raised to _be_ a specific sexuality, but there were a few moments when your father brought up you getting a girlfriend. You've never heard him talk about dudes or anything before, so you've always assumed that was what he expected of you.  
  
School, however, was a whole different story. Being open about your preferences isn't even an option, it seems like. The term “fag” is thrown around so hatefully, the subject always made you a little uncomfortable. Like if you talk about it, you'll be shunned from society or something. It's all just really stupid, and you wish that everyone could be cool with everyone so you wouldn't have to think about this so deeply.  
  
You can only hope that, soon, you'll reach your conclusion. In the meantime, you have to worry about your second competition this saturday, so basically, tomorrow. You have all the music, your step-off's, and your sets memorised, but you're still super nervous because, well, you always get like this before competitions.  
  
What if you mess up?  
  
 _No, that's stupid, I have all of it down.  
  
_ What if you don't place?  
  
 _Doesn't matter._  
  
What if you don't get your shirts in time?  
  
…  
  
Speaking of shirts, every year your band gets special t-shirts to help identify your group at competitions, around school, at night practice. That kind of thing. You guys were suppose to receive them before the first competition, but there was some sort of error in the printing so you never got them. But today, you'll finally get them. You _know_ you will, but since you're a worry-wart, you're still thinking about it.  
What will they look like?  
  
You think about this all day until band comes around, and Mr. Combs tells you all to bunch up, and, of course, you take a seat next to Dave. Ever since yesterday, when he talked to Rose, he seems a little... off. You tried asking what it was about but he brushed it off as nothing important, and that was the end of the conversation.  
Weird.  
  
“So. I know we didn't get out t-shirts for that last competition, but they've finally arrived.” Mr. Combs says, drawing a few cheers and everyones attention to him and the box next to him. He pulls a random blue shirt from the top of the batch, showing off the front to the band. The front is the same as usual, with white “SHS”, followed by “MARCHING BAND” spelled in some college looking font. He then flips it over to reveal the show title, “Castle in the Sky” (in it's traditional font) because your band is just that clever.  
 _Skaia._  
Sky.  
Ahaha.  
Get's you every time.  
  
“When you hear your name, raise your hand.” Says Mr. Combs, and the head guard booster, Jane Crocker, starts reading the list one by one, handing t-shirts for your director to toss at his hand raising victims.  
It's made funnier because of how terrible your teachers aim is, and when Jane calls Dave's name, the shirt ends up on your head.  
  
This goes on for about fifteen more minutes until all of the shirts are passed out and you guys get down to business. You guys break into sectionals, and since you're the clarinet section leader and you _know_ how difficult it'll be to hear you guys over everyone else, you take your group into the choir room to run through a few problem sections in the music, along with Feferi and Terezi who take their sections in there as well.  
There isn't much to work on, though, so you finish about ten minutes early and are greeted by a few flutes who probably finished too.

  
Jade is the first one over, and she waves at you with her free hand, her other gripping the flute in her hand. “Hey John!” She says, a smile on her face. The rest of your section engross themselves with conversation, and Eridan goes to talk to Feferi. You don't know if it's true, but you heard he joined band to be closer to her. As sweet as it sounds, you don't think she likes him that way. She's said it before and everything.  
  
But enough about them, you're currently listening to Jade babble about your love life.  
  
“John, as your almost sibling, I think it's pretty important to know who you want to put moves on. I mean, you told me about your first girlfriend in eigth grade, so you should tell me this one! You just seem really out of it lately, and I'm convinced it's love.” She pauses for a moment to think before continuing, “or _like_. _Like_ like.”  
  
You've got to tell her _something._ She won't stop if you don't, and this has been proven to be true when cookies were disappearing from the jar back when you guys were in elementary school and she was determined to get answers.  
So you let her in on a little bit.

 

“Jade, calm down.” You begin, and she nods, shutting herself up. “There _is_ someone, but I don't know if I like them yet. It's confusing right now.” Luckily, this is enough for Jade right now, and she squeals, the conversation coming to a close.  
  
When band practice ends and you're waiting outside for you dad to come, you're still thinking about what you briefly discussed with Jade.  
It's still unclear if you legit like Dave, but it's crystal that you're a little scared. Of a few things, actually. One, the obvious, feeling this way about a fellow bro was foreign to you. What if you're wrong? That'd be a doozy.  
Two, Dave is your _best_ friend, could the situtation be even more worse?  
And three, there's rejection. That word stung and clung to you because over these past few years of high school, you've been rejected quite a few times. No, you don't ask a ton of girls to go out with you. It's only been like three, but one of them has turned you down more than once. It's on and off with her, because one minute she's friendzoning you, and the next, she's hitting on you. You actually went out once, though, but that was back in middle school, so it didn't really count. You don't like her anymore, no, but you obviously used to, a whole lot.  
What makes it even worse is that this girl is in your band.  
  
And in Dave's section.  
  
And she just so happens to be talking to you right now, to pass the time. But you don't think she did it just to pass the time. The conversation somehow leads to the topic of relationships, and you've no clue what to say.  
  
 _Maybe if I go out with someone, these weird feelings for Dave will go away.  
  
_ She gives you that winning smile that won you over the first time, but it isn't enough to seal the deal yet.  
  
 _Maybe if I do this, I'll feel something.  
  
_ She places her hands on your shoulders, firmly but gently, before leaning up towards you.  
  
 _Yeah... I'll feel something..  
  
_ In the next instant, Vriska Serket is kissing you, and you're kissing her back.  
  
 _I'll feel something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, not sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave finds hope.

  
  
Your name is DAVE STRIDER and today is Saturday, aka, Competition Day.  
Today was _supposed_ to be a good day.  
Today, you were _supposed_ to have fruit loops for breakfast provided by the biffle.  
Today, you were _supposed_ to arrive at school at 5:30 and be greeted by a sleepy but cheepy John Egbert.  
Today, you were _supposed_ to tell him all about your crazy ass dream last night about beatboxing puppets.  
Today, you were _supposed_ to be sitting on the bus with said boy, but none of that happened because he was _too busy_ to provide explanation, other than giving you a quick, “Sorry, Dave! I was gonna sit with Vriska. Is that okay?”, which, of course, received a “Yeah, man”. But when you watch her take his hand, and he's fine with it, you know it's _not_ okay. It hurts, and it hurts even worse when you're boarding the bus and as you pass by them, you seem them exchange an innocent kiss, and it hurts so bad.  
Today was _supposed_ to be a good day, but so far, it just looks terrible.  
  
So you change things up a little, for the sake of reminding you what seems right.  
  
Today is _supposed_ to be a manageable day.  
Today, you are _supposed_ to sit back and watch things play out.  
Today, you are _supposed_ to let John be happy because you _love_ him, and you can't be selfish.  
Today will be a manageable day, and you'll do your best to make that happen.  
  
You're stuck sitting next to Jade for the bus ride, but because her two friends were sitting in the seat across and she was planning on talking to them. Your less than stoic demeanor, however, gets her attention. Aaand their attention as well. You're just lucky she isn't friends with like, Eridan or something. It's Nepeta and Terezi, and you're relieved. For that, and the fact that your sister, Rose, isn't in Marching Band. You would probably explode.  
  
“Something the matter, Dave? You're acting a little weird.” Jade says, poking your arm with her green polished index finger, to which you shrug. Terezi leans over Nepeta to give her response, and it's a little more intuitive than Jade's words.  
  
“Dave, you're acting like Garfield on a Monday. Are you jealous about John and Vriska?” She asks. Nepeta's eyes widen and she looks at you, gasping into a small yawn and it's the cutest thing you've ever seen, oh my god, you just want to take her home.  
“Daaave, do you really like John? I mean, it's been going around for about a week now but I want to know if it's true!”

  
Scratch that, you're probably going to explode _now_. Three girls, asking about your lovelife. You're full of all kinds of luck, aren't you?  
But then you backtrack.  
A week now?  
Rose wasn't kidding when she said it was obvious, but you know how oblivious John can be to these things so you're okay for now.  
“John can date whoever he wants to date, we're just friends.  
  
“Beeest friends,” Nepeta adds.  
  
“Closer than my tongue and my reed,” Terezi seconds.  
  
“You should really tell him!” Jade thirds, but you really _can't._ Especially since 1) he's already in a relationship, and 2) he's made it clear he doesn't like you in a romantic sense. You tell Jade of this second factor too, but she doesn't budge. In fact, she says something that gives you hope.  
  
“I don't know, Dave. Yesterday, during sectionals, I talked to John and he told me that he might be crushing on someone right now. It's definitely not Vriska who he was referring to because he's dated her before, so he wouldn't be so giddy about it. And you're the only other person he _talks_ to, so I'm pretty sure it's you.”  
  
But this is also a little fishy because, well, “Why is he dating her?”  
Jade seems to have an answer for everything though.  
  
“Because he's most likely trying to avoid thinking about you. Every since his mom died, he's been doing a lot of avoiding. This is going to go on so long as you not tell him, Dave.”  
“But they seem sicklingly happy.”  
“It's all fake. Vriska's probably only with him because she's chasing after his Drum Major status next year. We all know that once Sollux graduates, he'll become a real Drum Major rather than an assistant, like he and Vriska are now. So if she breaks his heart--”  
  
“Poof goes the focus, and John is screwed.” Nepeta says, finishing Jade's statement.  
  
You didn't realise a fellow band member could be such a bitch until now, but it makes a lot of sense. Fits her personality and everything. Even if John is doing it to avoid you, it's still possible for him to feel bad if she breaks up with him. The kid is kind of weak sauce sometimes when it comes to _feelings.  
_ Yeah, yeah, you get it.  
 _Feelings?_  
What's that?  
I hear it's a new type of fruit.  
Just because you're a Strider, doesn't mean you can't feel, let's just clear that up. The purpose of those feelings jams you boast about are to deal with that kind of stuff. You may be a total jackass when it comes to consideration, but still. You're not a fucking zombie. But after growing up with no parents, and just an older brother, you just don't talk about them to everyone on the planet. Only Rose, John, and Bro, and sometimes even Roxy because she's like the mother you never had.  
  
“I'm not ready to tell him anything.” You finalise, and there's a few oppositions here and there, but they know you're set on not telling him asap. At least it'll happen, they said.  
You don't think it'll be anytime soon, but you don't let them in on that bit.  
  
The rest of the bus ride is quiet for you because the girls start chatting about bands they're excited to see perform, and you're on the verge of sleep, again. You can't seem to shake John though and it's irritating.  
When you finally stop thinking about him, it's out on the field.  
  
You never thought it would happen, but in the short amount of time you've been in this band, you never thought it could change you so much.  
You were a smart ass, pretty much, towards everyone.  
You ditched classes whenever you felt like it.  
You hated your brother.  
  
But now... things are a lot different.  
You feel more obligated to be nice. For John's sake? Maybe, but still.  
You feel more obligated to go to school because for once, you're excited for the day ahead of you. You're excited about band because it makes you happy.  
And as for your brother? After joining band, you've come to see that his decision to force you into the class was for the better, as were the others in the past. You can't just _hate_ your Bro. Not when you know how much he does for you.  
  
 _“Skaia High School, you may now take the field in competition.”_  
  
You're scared, nervous, but you have almost all of this down to a science, Your body moves where it needs to, and all you have to really focus on now are the notes, and you think you're do okay.  
The first movement comes to an end and the second starts up.  
  
But thats when you mess up.  
Not only do you end up to close to the person to the left of you during the companing front, but you mess up on a few notes, and you feel really disappointed in yourself.  
Ugh.  
 _Fuck_.  
  
As the song comes to an end, you try not to think about it, but when you're retreating from the field your mind is still freaking out on you and you get off-step for five unnoticed seconds.  
  
Mr. Combs tells you guys it was amazing, blah blah blah, and you're dismissed to leave for the stands.  
  
The competition draws your attention for the next few hours, thankfully, but you also notice something out of the corner of your eye.  
It's John.  
And he's wearing your hoodie.  
  
Maybe you wont _confess_ to John anytime soon, but you aren't going to let Vriska steal him either.  
  
Today ended up a hopeful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again, for reading this so far. c:


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is visited at 3AM by the one and only, Dave Strider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woweee.   
> We have a winter concert tomorrow night (17/12) and I have a solo please wish me luck 
> 
> (I play clarinet btw in case you're wondering)

  
Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you're looking at Dave. Okay, shut up, not _looking_ at Dave, you may do that a lot, but not all the time. This isn't some weird M/M fanfiction on that ao3 website or something.  
The point is, it's like 3AM right now, and you're squinting through the bright porch light to just barely make out his shivering figure. If he had come over for some ironic, late night sleepover, maybe you wouldn't have been so concerned. But as your eyes adjust, the shivering becomes shaking, and his usual stoic composure is crumbling before you. He's not wearing his shades either, and it tips the atmosphere to scary levels.  
He opens his mouth to speak, but soon closes it, his expression twisting into a frown.  
  
“Dave, what's wrong?” You ask him, opening the door a little wider, making it easier to hold a conversation without a pesky door in the way. Buuut then you remember it's _three in the freaking morning_ and chatting outside in the frosty air doesn't seem like a fun idea.  
  
Dave doesn't answer your previous question with any words, instead choosing to just shake his head, giving you the look that meant, 'later', followed by a look of, 'please let me in, I'm freezing my Texan ass off.'  
Okay, he doesn't give you a _look_ for that one, but his sudden shudder reminds you that it's probably like twenty degrees outside, and Dave is only wearing a white, short sleeved shirt and red flannel pants.  
Probably his pajamas or something.  
  
“Do you want to come--”, before you can finish your sentence, Dave is already shuffling past you and into your house. You're about to offer him your bed, but he heads in the opposite direction of the staircase and goes into the kitchen.  
  
Okay, maybe you shouldn't be as worried as you are now, because he's digging through your fridge for..  
  
Yup.  
Apple juice.  
  
He'll be okay.  
  
“If you want to talk about it or something, you can talk to me. It's better than having to tell Rose.” You say, leaning against the counter as he gets out a glass and stares at it hesitently.  
And then he speaks.  
  
“Is your dad going to find out if I drink out of the bottle?”  
  
 _Seriously?_  
  
“No, but this is kind of serious. What happened to your glasses?”  
“Stuff.”  
“ _Dave._ ”  
“Look, I don't want to fucking talk about it right now.” He snaps.  
You raise your arms up in defense. “Sorry for being concerned.”  
  
He lets out a sigh, taking a long drink out of the gallon before setting it back down onto the counter.  
“Sorry. I'm just... not in the best mood right now. Can we just.. talk about it tomorrow?” He asks you, and you nod, complying to his wishes by not bothering him about it for the rest of the night. You end up sharing the bed because haha, bros do that, bros share bros beds even if one bro has a girlfriend(??) and might be gay.  
But lets not get into that.  
  
Actually...  
Maybe you should really think about this, even if for a moment while you lay awake next to Dave in your dark bedroom (aside from the moonlight and your glow-in-the-dark Ghostbusters poster, of course).  
To be loud and clear, you don't think you can stand Vriska any longer. This past week has been, well.. awful. You'd feel bad to break up with her after only one week, she _was_ the one who insinuated it anyway.  
But she's been clinging to you, and treating you like a tool, and it's annoying. The first time you were in a relationship, it was only because she wanted to one-up you in band in eigth grade. (“Let me see your music for a second-- oops, I lost it, sorry”). And you have this bad feeling that she's just using you now. Plus, she's never been nice to you before now. The _last_ time you asked her out, she called you a dork and said you would ruin her rep or something. Ha, wow, now you see what Rose is talking about when she says you're totally oblivious.  
  
You gueesss you should also mention that this past week, you haven't spoken to Dave at all..  
In your defense, he hasn't exactly come to you with some of his Stridery problems either. There's the occasional, “Yo Egbert, can you mark me off?” but thats pretty much it. Wow, you guys are such great friends. You're really glad he came over, even though he chose a bad time, for both of you.  
You really... missed him.  
  
Letting out a somewhat satisfied sigh, you turn onto your side, facing the sleeping Dave beside you. Under the light of the outside streetlights, he looks so peaceful. So, content.  
You discover you like him a lot better without his shades on. Why would someone want to cover up some of their best features?  
From his thin, blonde eyelashes to his scattered array of freckles, Dave Strider is easily the most attractive person you've ever seen (wow way to leave your girlfriend in the dumps).  
And it's not just _that_ what makes him attractive.  
It's so much more.  
  
His stupid little smirk.  
  
His smile.  
  
His chuckle when he's trying to be smooth.  
  
His interest in music.  
  
His occasional snort from laughing too hard that you only get from tickling him.  
  
The fact that he's ticklish. __  
  
His weird, overdone explanations for simple things.  
  
His lame hair flipping.  
  
Everything that is positively Dave is something you like and screw being straight, you are clearly a two way street right now. Maybe it's something you'll grow out of, you don't know. All you know is that right now, after _trying_ to be in a relationship to get your mind off of him and failing, you think you're ready to bring your potential bisexuality up to the plate.  
  
Telling your dad is going to be... Okay, that is definitely a thing that can and should wait for the morning to obsess over. You need sleep, it's like four in the morning. And thinking you're going to do about your current relationship needs to wait for then, too.  
Aha, none of this means you're going to _ask out_ Dave.  
That's crazy.  
That's scary.  
And plus, it'll look bad if you dump Vriska and then start dating someone immediately after.  
Wow, you kind of feel bad just th--  
  
“Why are you staring at me?”  
  
 _Shitshitshit._  
You were so busy thinking about how you need to stop thinking, you didn't notice when Dave opened his eyes.  
Good job, John, good job.  
  
“I'm not.” You mutter, turning to bury your face into your pillow.  
“Dude, you're going to suffocate.”  
“No I'm not.”  
“Yes, you are.”  
“Shut up.”  
“Make me.”  
“Go to beeed.”  
“I'm already in bed.”  
You lift your pillow and smack Dave with it before propping it back under your head, facing him once more.  
  
“What was that for?” He asks, in mid laugh.  
“Stop wearing your shades.” You say, staring straight into his scarlet hues.  
“I-I can't.”  
“Why not? You look better without them.” You sigh. He closes his eyes, and it's quiet for a little while. None of you speak for at least five minutes before he finally says something. But it's not about his eyes or sleeping.  
  
“My brother and I got into a fight.”  
  
… Oh.  
This probably has to do with what happened before he came over.  
  
  
“Do you want to talk about it..?” You ask him, and he shrugs, eyes still shut.  
“He's just been keeping a lot of shit from me about my dad. I don't really want to go over all of it right now, I'm tired.”  
“Okay...”  
You hope he'll tell you later. Sometimes when he says he'll do something, he never does. If it gets bad, you know Rose will get it out of him, but you really want to be the one the he can _go_ to, for anything. Not just to come over and not talk about it.  
  
A few minutes later, he turns around in the bed and you do the same.  
“Night, Egbert.” He murmurs.  
“Night, Dave.”  
  
You don't get any sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out what happened, and JohnDave have an awks conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I didn't look back for mistakes or anything so sorry if it's shit--.  
> But, yee. I'll post a better chapter next time, I swear.

  
“Bro, _what the hell?”_  
  
Your name is Dave Strider, and you're pissed at your brother right now, obviously.  
Because in your hand is a stack of letters all addressed to you from, whom? Aha, that's right. You're _father_. The one that's been absent from your life all these years. Sure, he's a huge dick, but it would be nice to at least know why or what the hell he was up to when you and Bro were left to fend for yourselves. And to find out that he had indeed tried contacting you on multiple occasions, you couldn't help but be angry with your brother for hiding it all these years.  
  
Bro, however, is unfased.  
He's _so_ unfased, that the response he gives you upon realising that you dug up these ancient artifacts is,  
  
“Oh.”  
  
 _Oh?_  
  
Seriously??  
  
You're going to fucking explode.

  
“Why didn't you give these to me?” You ask, heading further out into the livingroom to properly disuss this with your brother, tossing the letters onto the coffee table. He tenses up a little, bringing to your attention that he's not as unfased about this as he presents himself to be.  
“You didn't need them.” He says, not bothering to turn his head in your direction either.  
“But have you ever considered that maybe I wanted to at least _know_ the guy was sending shit to me?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.  
“Look. It wouldn't have made any difference if you knew about them each time they came in the mail, and finding them now. And, stay out of my room.” Your bro says, standing up and heading to the kitchen, muttering something under his breath, probably along the lines of, “I need a drink” because he's getting one now,  
Beer, that is. He's never gone for anything hardcore before, so you're not too worried about him whipping out a bottle of vodka and getting drunk right in front of you.  
He's smarter than that.  
  
“Why did he leave?” You ask, following him into the kitchen.  
It's been years and years, you're tired of being kept in the dark about this.  
“It's not important.”  
“ _Please_.”  
“Dave.”  
“ _Bro_.”  
  
There's a pause.  
  
“I made him leave.”  
  
Whoa, plot twist.  
Okay Dave, this is no time for witty jokes. Now that you're deep into this jam, you need to get out as much as you can because after finding those letters, you're probably never going to hear about the subject ever again.  
  
Your brother then elaborate.  
“He wasn't an awful guy, but he made awful choices. Choices that would continue to make things worse if I didn't do it, Dave. You were young, I didn't want you to start acting like he does.”  
  
“Did I?” You ask,  
  
You don't get an answer.  
It's not even like a pause, he just sighs and ignores you for a minute or so.  
  
“ _Did_ I?” You repeat.  
  
He finally looks up at you, looking a little pained. He isn't wearing his shades, so you can see his full range of emotions above is masquerading smirk.  
  
“You're just like him.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Your name is Dave Strider, and you're scared.  
You don't know a bunch about your father, but you _do_ know from what your bro has told you is that he's a fucking druggie. The addictious personality may be in you too, but you've always promised yourself that you would never, can't ever go down that route. Shit, you want to go to college. You want to get married and have kids, and knowing more about your dad terrifies you.  
After your long conversation with Bro, you just decided to head over to John's house to cool off.  
  
Speaking of John, he's been a total tool lately whenever Vriska is around. But you think he's getting tired of her. Especially because he never goes on about the girl anymore over pesterchum, unless it's him complaining about how he has to go do stuff for her “brb”.  
You're glad.  
Finally coming to his senses.  
  
Rose is trying to butt in by egging both of you on to ask each other out and you _know_ it. Well, she's bugging you. But John has been acting a little weird lately and you think, maybe Rose is bothering him too? Feeling uncomfortable is usually the only feeling people have after talking to Rose, so you can only assume. But his words seem to just drag you back down to square one.  
  
 _“That's the silliest thing I've ever heard_.”  
  
“Is the possibility of us dating _really_ that silly?”  
  
Wait.  
Wait, crap.  
Wait, crap that was outside of your head and now John is looking over at you from his electric, Yamaha piano in the corner of his room. He turns red and so do you and you can literally feel the awkward in the air. Wow, you can't believe you really just, shit.  
Welp.  
Better now than never, right?  
You've been needing to bring it up anyway.  
  
“Um.” John begins, lightly dusting his fingers over the keys before just turning the piano off. “I-I... No, I guess it's not. But we're best bro's.. you know? Dave, actually, I..” He trails off, and it bothers you because you _really_ want to know what he was going to say.  
  
“Contiiinuue.” You say, gesturing him to do so with your hands, moving them in a circular motion.  
  
“I think I'm homo, or bi, or something. I-Is that weird? Don't hate me.” He says, but really quickly so it actually sounds like, “IthinkImHomoOrBiOrSomethingIsThatWeirdDontHateMe”.  
  
You almost laugh because it's ridiculous that he thinks you would hate him. You think you like John way too much to hate him, in general. Well, unless he decided to be come a serial killer and murder off the Striders, then you would hate him, but that's not the case here, and that will most likely never be a case.  
You also laugh because this is yet another good swing your way.  
 _Haha, swing your way._  
That wasn't even intentional.  
  
“Dude, I could never hate you over something so... little. If it makes you feel any better, I'm kind of like that too.” You admit, and boy does it feel good to get that off your chest. Pretty much everyone knows it, but John is oblivious so it's been a bit of a struggle for him to get the memo.  
“Really?” He says, his eyes widening a little, and you think (hope) he's relieved.  
“Yup.”  
  
The conversation is interrupted when his dad knocks on the door and calls, “Breakfast is ready!” You sense that John is done discussing this for today and you put away the subject to eat some food.  
You're _starved_. __  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to suggest ships for future Bandstuck fics, or just say hi because I like people. <3  
> http://octagonexplorer.tumblr.com/


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Vriska finally break up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much, but it's somefin. 
> 
> I've had half of this chapter written for a few days now, but I've been playing a lot of mafia on msparp--.

  
Mark Time, Hearts.  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Your name is John Egbert and you're having a little problem. You're starting to think that Vriska has this third eye, like she knows everything about the friendship you and Dave have, and is a little jealous. Well, that, and since Dave came over last weekend with his Bro problems, you two have been hanging out a little more. Not _all_ the time, obviously, but a pretty decent bro-time. You don't know why she's getting so jealous. To be honest, you don't even think she likes you that much. She doesn't really act like it most of the time, it's more so for appearances.  
You've been meaning to break up with her for a few days now but you can never get around to it because she's either talking to (at) you, you're talking to Dave, or you're all busy with drills.   
  
Wow, you feel kind of like a dick for dating her just two weeks before you end it with, but in your defense, it just wasn't working. At all. You two aren't as compatible as you used to think you were. The only things you share in common with her are that you both like band, and Con Air.  
And that just isn't enough.  
Plus you like Dave, so.  
Thats a thing thats happening and has been confirmed in your head.  
  
Oh, and Dave is into guys too, you found out, but you're not even sure you like _guys._ You think you're just attracted to Dave. Dave.. sexual? Is that a thing? Because if it is, you're living it.  
  
But thats beside the point, you're legit having a problem here. Every time you go to talk to Dave, she freaks out and says something the lines of, “You're dating me, not Dave”, and pulls you away somewhere to go do stupid stuff like makeout.  
You've grown to dislike kissing her because, well, it's not _magical_. It just doesn't, and you think never will have, that heart fluttering feeling you only get with someone you really like.  
  
And the thing is, she's accusing you of liking _anyone_ you try to talk to that isn't her. When she grew suspicious about Rose, you think you laughed. No, no wait, you definitely did. Because.. seriously? _Rose?_ As much as you love her as a friend and all, you think you're too scared to think of her any other way.   
When you told Rose about it later, even she found the thought amusing.  
  
Why you brought up this subject is because today is just another one of those days where Vriska gets jealous, and you don't know if you can bear it any longer.  
And this whole time, you've kind of been going against your moms wishes, too. Back in eighth grade, when you first dated Vriska (as close to dating got at your age then), she met your mom. As expected, the girl was a little rude. More rude than she is now, but your mom didn't like her, and that was part of the reason why you stopped dating. She tried to warn you that girl was no good, too. Now that she isn't here to give you those motherly talks anymore, it's been a miracle that you discovered this was a bad idea on your own.  
  
Okay, maybe Rose questioned it before you did, but still.   
You just aren't a fit for each other.  
  
And the moment you found out what was really going on, you finally had the guts to end it.  
  
The first time Dave informed you of Vriska's intentions being sketchy, you didn't believe him because admittedly enough, you think you're still a little bit blinded by her ways. That, and you feel bad pinning something on her when it hasn't been confirmed.  
When Rose told you, you didn't believe that either.  
  
It was when you overheard her talking to Kanaya, the guard captain, when everything started to make more sense and the load off your back was kind of lifted.  
It was Friday, and were in the choir room, where you first played for Dave, the door propped open just a little bit. If this were a normal situation, you'd be worried about doing this today because of the competition tomorrow. But the conversation changes your mind pretty quickly.  
  
“You know John, right? Dorky, clarinet-piano guy? Well, all thanks to me, I'm highly confident that he loves me, and if I breakup with him before summer starts, he wont be focused enough for Drum Major auditions. Next year is my Senior year, I'll do anything for that position.”  
  
“That sounds a little bit like cheating to me. Are you sure doing that would be fair?”  
  
“Who said anything about fair?”  
  
It gets silent and a few moments later, Kanaya emerges from the room, and a look of pity makes an appearance on her face before she heads back to the band room to put away her things.  
  
  
 _Okay.  
You can do this.  
  
Wow, why is this so terrifying.  
  
_You slip inside the choir room, causing Vriska to look up from her music, an eyebrow raised.   
“We need to talk.” You say, and you think she can already see where this is going.  
“Were you listening to my conversation?” She quickly responds, to which you nod to.  
“Yeah, but that didn't effect what I'm going to say now, just letting you know.”   
  
You walks over to her seat in one of the rows of chairs that sit in front of whiteboard, gripping the straps of your backpack tightly in your hands.  
“We should... break up.”  
  
You rehearsed this in front of the mirror a few times, haha, how embarrassing, but you would have screwed up had you not. Breaking up with people is hard. Not that you have past experience or anything.  
Vriska looks kind of p.o.'d about this though.  
  
“No, no, no. _You_ don't break up with _me_.” She says, and gosh, she reminds you of one of those stereotypical popular girls you see on TV when they're broken up with.  
“I kind of just did.” You shrug, wow you can already see the ABC Family cameras rolling.  
“You're going to regret this, John.”  
“Goodbye, Vriska.”  
  
You did it.  
  
You're finally free.  
  
Finally free to date Dave, that is, but obviously not soon because you'll look like a douche since you _just_ broke up with your girlfriend. Can't have your band family thinking you're one of _those_ guys. Well, you doubt they will because they're you're _band family_ but you would take no risks here.  
  
So it may not be soon or anything, but you're _definitely_ planning on asking out Dave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the best thing ever happened to me
> 
> one of the amazing people who reads this fic talks to me on tumblr and stuff, and we found out we live an hour away from each other, and we actually went to competitions together but didn't realise it, so we're going to cosplay bandstuck JohnDave next year during marching season and it's going to be a++.
> 
> This is so great, you have no idea how excited this makes me. ;3;


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is another Band competition, and kokoro's are a'beatin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay.~

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and it has just occurred to you how close Championships is and how close you are from what you think is the end of Marching Season. This thought dawns on you as you tiredly eat what you're preeettty sure is a pop tart (you really can't be bothered with turning on lights, it's like four-something in the morning). It could also be thawed out, now room temperature toaster strudel, but the dry taste suggests otherwise.  After today, there will officially be one more weekend until championships weekend.    
Huh.   
  
You never thought you would actually say this, much less think it, but you, Dave Strider, really don't want it to end. Yeah, yeah, pretty lame to think about this kind of stuff while you eat your lazy breakfast, but it's not like thinking about this some other time would make a difference. The idea of Marching Band coming to a close, though, is unsettling. What comes after this? Will there be an after this? When you first joined, you had originally intended only sticking around during the season, as it was the only class you needed to do before you could go back to being your usual, uninvolved self, but now?   
  
Now is so much different.   
  
Now you know all of these awesome people, your band family. And hell, you're proud to call these guys your family. You're maybe not as close as real families are, but they're the closest people you've got. The small factor of your group is just an added bonus.   
  
A few knocks on the door pulls you away from your deep thoughts and pop tarts, though, and you're kinda glad for that because if you had thought about that for another few minutes, you'd be going to the band room, teary eyed. And then it strikes you that it's four fucking thirty in the morning, and the only person crazy enough to knock at the door at this ungodly hour is your Bro. And he's back in his room, sleep-muttering his words of douchery, so that leaves the question open.   
  
Who the hell could that be?   
  
You walk over to the door, picking up a katana on the way for good measure, and get all riled up to scare off the neighbors but, turns out, the person of interest is just Egbert.   
... Weird.   
  
"Shouldn't you be at the school right about now?" You ask, but John just ignores your Q&A before asking a question of his own.   
"Do you need a ride?"   
"If I needed a ride, I would have called."   
"Okaay, let me rephrase. I'm giving you a ride." He says with finality, even taking the liberty to escort himself into your apartment. You set the weapon down beside the door, its rightful place, before following John in his trail to the living room.  
  
  


The fact that it's super early and John is up and running reminds you that shit, you have to get ready too. So instead of giving him a proper greeting or whatever, you go to your room and start changing into your compression wear. Which isn't even compression wear, you're just wearing a regular black t-shirt and regular black P.E. shorts you might have gotten from middle school. Just as you're about to put those fucking irritating contacts in, you hear a soft, “Don't”, coming from your door. You look up, the contact already prepped and on your finger, to see, mhm, John Egbert. Fuuck, you almost forgot he knew about that little secret. You really just don't feel comfortable showing off your eyes like that, it doesn't matter who's watching you. Bamily or not, that's just downright terrifying.  
  
“I have to, dude.”  
 _“Please?”_  
“I have to.”  
“At least take them off when we're off the field.”  
“Why are you so determined to see my eyes?” (Stay cool, Dave, breathe.)  
“Because they're yours.”  
“I don't see why that makes them so special.”  
“Well, I like you.”  
  
Wow, shit, you might be blushing right now, you can feel the heat rising up to your cheeks. You think John is blushing too but you can't really tell be cause of how dark it is in your room. He seems to notice what he said right afterwords, and quickly tries to correct himself.  
  
“I-I mean, you're my best bro. Well, that isn't a reason why I couldn't _like_ like you, that's always a possibility out in the open, haha, um..” It's when you start laughing when he stops his babbling. You only laugh because of how freaking adorable he is, but he wont know that.  
“Dude, shut up. I'll ditch the contacts _after_ we perform.” You promise, before putting them each in and then checking the time on your phone. “We've gotta go.” You tell him, shoving a few things like money, a blanket, change of clothes, ect., into your backpack.  
  
John nods, clearly still taken aback by his words, and the two of you head out, leaving the apartment. Once you're outside, he takes you to a blue car that kind of looks like a small box, and, oh my god, Egbert has a box car. His dad probably went, “I should go for a safer model, son”, and John was forever doomed to roll in a cube.  
  
Oh, the irony.  
  
You slide into the passenger seat and John shuts the door for you like a true gentleman, before he gets in himself, and pretty soon he's driving.  
  
Whoa, whoa, whoa.  
Since when did John _drive?_  
  
“You have a license... right?” You asked him, now a little worried that this wasn't exactly the best idea, rolling with Egbert.  
“Duh. Why would I drive without one?”  
“Yeah, but like... you took the test and all that?”  
“I'm almost seventeen.”  
  
You hold your arms up in defense before letting him drive in peace. It's not that John is a bad driver, he's not bad driver, you just don't feel comfortable being driven by someone your age and fresh out of the DMV.  
  
  
The drive is short, and pretty soon, you guys are getting out of the car and entering the band room. It's 5:02, so technically, you guys are late by two minutes, but who gives a shit, Mr. Combs isn't here yet. And neither is half the band, as per usual. You get your stuff out of the uniform closet so you wont be trampled on later, and then hang it up on your locker. This is probably the least tired you've ever been, the morning of a competition.  
  
As you wait for Mr. Combs and the rest of the band to arrive, you end up watching the guard coaches decorating the members in silvery makeup and eyelashes. It's pretty damn intriguing too, until Jane tells you that you're next, and you have to quickly explain that you aren't a dress-up type of guy.  
You don't know if it's true or not, but you think she's related to John. She used to be in band and guard herself back when she was in high school but she just stuck around to help out the girls. Or something like that. There have been a few times that you've seen her help tune instruments and conduct warm ups, but never anything else. Not gonna lie, she's kinda hot, but you already have someone else on your mind. That, and she's like, twenty-something.  
  
You guys sit around for a few more minutes before Mr. Combs finaally makes an appearance and tells you all to get into half uniform. After you guys put on your hella high black overalls and shoes, the overhead is turned on. Greeat. Breathing Gym.  
You've come to learn that you guys do Breathing Gym a _lot_ and it gets soo boring after a while. All it is, are these breathing exercises directed by two old guys for musicians. It's when you have to do like twenty minutes of this when it gets boring.  
  
Soon, this is over too and you're all told to set up instruments and get into an arch so you can do a quick warm up before the bus gets there. All of you fit in a single school bus, which is p small in comparison to the other bands and their fancy ass, air conditioned, traveling buses, but eh. It doesn't really matter, the rides are usually only an hour long, at most.  
  
When the bus arrives, John asks something you kind of weren't expecting.  
“Do you want to be my bus buddy?”  
He's been spending all of his precious time with Vriska lately, so yeah, this was a little confusing.  
“I thought you were gonna sit next to your um.. Girlfriend.” Shit, that um was an accident. So not cool.  
  
“We broke up.”  
  
Oh.  
  
“You okay?”  
“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”  
  
You shrug, and give him a nod because oh, oh shit, John is available.  
  
You load up onto the bus and head to the other school. The whole ride kind of an awkward silence between you two. Half of the time spent warming up again at this other school is awkward too, but it's when you're finally _on_ the field when the awkward goes away. It's showtime.  
  
You do pretty fantastic, and you're so glad, but the few notes you miss kind of crush you. Especially because you've played it so many times, missing something is stupid. But you don't think about that afterwords. What happens on the field, stays on the field.  
  
When you file back onto the bus to change, you're 100% done with these fucking hot uniforms on this fucking hot day and you just pull your shirt over your head because of how absolutely done you are. There are cat calls heard, a few of them from Terezi, and when you put on your regular, blue band shirt, John, flushed, is scrambling to put his band shirt on under his compression shirt.  
  
“Dude, just take it _off.”  
_ “No, that's _weird_.”  
“Jooohn.”  
“Nooo.”  
“John, come on, now you're stuck.  
“...”  
  
He sighs and allows you to untangle his mess of arms and two shirts, which is when the cat calling _really_ starts, and you think you see Tavros giving Gamzee five bucks.  
They were seriously betting on this?  
Ahaha, oh my god.  
  
Vriska, however, isn't amused, and smacks Gamzee's arm when she _thinks_ no one is looking  
  
He hurriedly puts on his band shirt over his, wow you never thought you'd say it, but John is _toned._ Like, you thought he just had an awkward frame before, but now that you've seen a glimpse of him shirtless, you think band camp has treated this boy right.  
  
Once you're both completely changed, along with the rest of the band, you're finally given permission to break and go watch the other bands.  
“Did you take them off?” John asks you, reaching up for your shades, and it takes all you have to not do something stupid like slap his hand away. He glances around before pushing them up and giving you a small smile.  
“Thanks, Dave.”  
You nod, pushing the shades back down over your eyes.  
  
“Let's go before they close off the stands.”  
  
The rest of the day is pretty chill. You and John record a few performances, play Pokemon (Fuck yes, you finally got X), and just lay around. As it gets darker, the two of you get closer, and when it's time for him to leave and change for awards, he gives you this sad, puppydog look, and it's so cute, John must be freaking exhausted.  
You guys end up placing second, and it's pretty fucking awesome, even if it isn't first. By the time you guys are all going back to the bus, John has his arm around your shoulders, halfway leaning on you. You wouldn't blame him, he just had to go out and march some more and salute and all of that crap. The band huddles up and Sollux gives a few words of how amazing you guys did, blah blah blah, and you're back on the bus.  
  
John falls asleep on you, as it was kind of expected, and you can't help but notice, once again, how adorable this guy is. You think he falls asleep like this every bus ride home.  
His chest rises and falls slowly, his glasses awkwardly digging into his nose as his head tries slipping off of your shoulder.  
“You're not going anywhere..” You mutter, lifting his head back up to once again, lay on your shoulder.  
And then you kiss his forehead.  
  
It's subtle, small.  
But you think he notices this.  
No, you _know_ he notices this (well like 90% know), and a faint smile appears on his lips.  
  
And thats where your eyes travel to next.  
John is... He's single.  
You.. you can totally..  
Yeah..  
  
You kiss him, softly and briefly.  
  
And your heart pounds when you notice John trying to kiss you back but you've already pulled away.  
  
Holy shit, you just kissed John Egbert.  
  
And technically, he just kissed you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi to me on tumblr, I like friends   
> http://octagonexplorer.tumblr.com


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Championships.

Your name is John Egbert you kinda, sorta, maybe have been avoiding Dave. Actually, scratch that. You haven't been avoiding _him_ , you've just been avoiding talking about what happened two weeks ago. It's a little hard to, though, especially when half the band is rooting for team “DaveJohn”. Nepeta suggested the name, but you think it's dumb and it's clearly “JohnDave”.   
Ha.   
Your name shall be first.   
That'll show who's boss.  
  
Rose has been bothering the crap out of you about this more than anyone, and as much as you love her, it's going to be agonizing if this whole “oh we're not dating, but we act like it” thing carries on by the time concert band comes around, and she decides to really step up her psycho-therapy thingy. Because you know she will, now that Dave has kissed you.  
Wow, Dave kissed you.  
  
Dave kissed you, this means he likes you, this means you like each other!  
  
.. And maybe this also means that you've been spending too much time around Nepeta.   
Or maybe she's been spending too much time around you?  
  
Either way, it's been two weeks since you _really_ spoke to Dave because it's been really awkward, and you've both been a little nervous about what to do, and when. Last Saturday, your band took first place, and when you got back to the stands, he pulled you into the biggest hug you've ever gotten. But then suddenly, it was like he remembered the kiss you shared the week before, and it was quickly cut off.   
  
But today... Today is Championship day.   
  
_Today is Championship day.  
  
_ You've gotta do everything _perfectly_.  
  
With the show, you mean. Not that you should do anything wrong when it comes to you and Dave's relationship, it's just that today, you have to be on top of it. No dilly-dallying. No swooning. Nothing, just your show.  
  
The morning is quiet, the air a little heavy. You're pretty sure the only reason you don't hear any crying right now is because everyone did all that last night, at the Pre-Championships party. It was fun; people gave speeches, told stories, played show music by banging on the table and the humming of parts. You didn't give a speech last night, even if the band chanted you on. You're saving that for afterwords. And because you're afraid you might cry up there, too. You've done it at past pre-champs parties, but this year was a lot different from the others. You're just waiting for the right moment to sob, and doing it then, with the tears of other speakers, might have made things harder on the seniors.   
Ugh, you'll be there next year: a senior. Breaks your heart a little to think about, graduating and leaving the Squadron. You never want it to end.  
  
But this season is coming to an end, too, and it's coming fast.  
  
Faster than you could ever imagine, because soon enough, you're all at the school you'll be competing at. For the _last_ time, for some. For many, actually.   
It's dark and dreary outside, like it usually is during Championships. You really hope it doesn't rain though. You think the grass is real this time, and not turf.   
  
“Alright guys.” Mr. Combs begins, clasping his hands together. He has this huge grin on his face like he usually does, and the tensity in the air just seems to disappear around him.   
“This is it!” He continues, looking around at each and every one of you, the boosters scuffling around to pass out sliced banana's (they're for cramps).  
  
“You guys are going to do great out there. I've _seen_ you do great things, and I _know_ you're going to do great things out on the field today. You may be the smallest group in your division right now, but if it weren't for your amazing determination, and devotion, and talent, you wouldn't be here. This is your big day. For these last few minutes before we go on, I just want you guys to think about the show. Think about what's next, what you've missed before. Anything that you might need some work on, I want you to think about that. Let's make this Championships the best we've ever had.”  
  
 _Let's make this the best._  
  
 _You can do this_.  
  
The other band clears off of the field and your band settles in.   
  
You're nervous.  
  
Scared.  
  
This field is what you've been working so hard to win.  
  
 _“Drum Major. Is your band ready?”  
  
_ Your eyes flitter to Sollux up on the podium and he gives the box a solute, before turning back to face the group.  
  
 _“Skaia Highschool, you may now take the field in_ Championship _competition.”  
  
_ This is it.  
 _  
“1, 2!”  
  
3, 4.  
  
Step._  
  
  
\--------------  
  
  
It's cold.   
It's pouring rain, and you only have your uniform and shako to keep you warm.   
You really wish they could just... do this inside. Somewhere.  
  
Your hands are going numb and you don't have gloves and you can't use this as an excuse to hold Dave's hand either, because he's all the way on the stands.  
  
Division 1's results seem to go by for ages, before they finally get to you guys.   
There's where the tension and suspense builds.  
  
They announce Auxiliary’s results, and when you score second in that, Kanaya and Nepeta go up and do a pretty adorable salute before claiming their award. You may not know a lot about guard, but what you _do_ know is that the members in guard on your squad are the most badass bunch you've ever met.   
  
You place fifth in percussion, which you guess is pretty good. This is a new division for you guys anyway, no pressure.  
  
And then comes the legit thing.   
It's time.  
  
Your heart nearly stops each time the announcers tongue lands on an “S”.  
 _Was that us?? Oh, nevermind.  
  
_ He's down to second, and they still haven't called your school yet.  
You're freaking out.  
  
 _“In second place...”  
  
Hurry up!  
  
“is Alternia High's, Marching Pirates!”  
  
W-Wait..  
  
“And in first place...”  
  
  
“The Skaia Squadron!”  
  
_There's screaming, and cheering, and you're so shocked that you just forget how to march as you, Sollux, and Vriska link arms and go do your salute.  
It feels like one of those movies when everything is silent but at the same time, it's loud because of how amazing this feels. You might actually be crying too, but the rain works as a good disguise.  
You're all dismissed and the three of you run back to the stands.   
  
You're grinning, and pictures are taken, and as soon as you have a second to _breath_ , you're running up to see Dave.  
To give him a satisfied, _“We did it!”  
  
_ And he seems to get the message because next thing you know, he's lifting you up, and spinning you in a small circle.  
“W-We won, Dave!” You tell him, despite the fact that he knows it and so does everyone else.   
You don't care, and you're happy, you're _so_ happy.  
  
You're bursting with confidence right now, and you don't give a flying fuck about who sees you anymore as you wrap your arms around Dave's neck and press your lips against his.  
  
  
You win two things that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi wow sorry but there's only like one more chapter left.  
> I'm going to write a DirkJake one in the future though. c:


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is the last chapter.  
> it's not christmas anymore but i don't care because this is dedicated to the wonderful and mega cutie, sammie. 
> 
> anyway, yes.  
> final chapter.
> 
> time to read, sons.

Your name is Dave Strider and it's Christmas. Okay, _technically_ , it's not Christmas _yet_ but it's the last day before winter break, and your band is having a Christmas party to kick it off. It's Band Christmas, therefor, it's going to be fucking awesome and maybe the best Christmas you've spent. No offense to Bro and Roxy Claus or anything, but being able to chill with 50 of your favourite people (seeing that you actually _have_ that luxury now) just jumps right to the top of the "Best Holiday" list by Dave Strider.  
You've never actually been to one of these band parties before but the way John is currently babbling a million miles an hour about it makes you feel that it's a pretty great tradition. You should probably be paying attention to what he's saying, but in your defense, he's talking too fast for you to be able to take in _all_ of the info.  
It's when you both start walking to the band room when you place your finger on his lips and get him to hush.  
  
"John. Where's the surprise going to be if you map out what's going to go down?"  
  
He gives you one of those, 'I'm-sorry-but-not-really' smiles, and you pull your hand away to take his.  
  
Speaking of hand holding.  
  
That's kind of a couple thing, isn't it?  
  
Ohh, Dave, you dare devil.  
  
Aha, but not really because you and John have been dating since Championships.  
Yep.  
You, and John Egbert, are in a relationship, and have been for a month now.  
And it's the best decision you have ever made.  
Joining _band_ and _staying_ in it, is the best decision you have ever made.  
Because now you've got a ton of friends and a better rep. It's made a huge impact on your life, and even if this sounds like some cheesy therapeutic cliche, it's true. Before band, you've never looked forward to things that didn't involve sneaking out to go do stupid shit that you used to thing was cool.  
Before band, you were pretty much a zombie, long gone from society's touch.  
But now?  
You actually have _feelings_ , not that you didn't have them before, but now it just feels so good to feel and _talk_ about how _great_ your day was, or how  _shitty_ your night was, or even trivial shit like how _baffled_ you were by the random repeat sign you failed to spot during Sleigh Ride for the first time and ended up in fucking Narnia.  
  
Now, you look _forward_ to going to school, and seeing your friends, and playing music, and feeling like your mouth is going to explode because of how you have to play stupid 16 note runs.  
You look forward to _seeing_ John, and _being_ with John, because you _can_ and that makes you happy.  
 _He_ makes you happy.  
 _Band_ makes you happy.  
  
But enough of this deep thinking stuff, you guys are going to play a game called White Elephant, apparently, and according to John, it's the best gift exchange ever. You have to bring a 5 to 10 dollar gift that is recommeded to be random and terrible. Which is obviously right up your alley. Ironically bad Christmas gifts? How much better could the day get?  
So your gift was carefully chosen and evaluted by the ironic gods in hopes that they accept you gift to be most ironic (and by ironic gods, you mean Bro).  
  
And now, the games are just about to start.  
  
You all huddle up in the choir room to eat pizza and drink various types of beverages, a Christmas tree in the right corner, hovering over a pile of gifts all provided by your fellow band members. As soon as a majority of you have finished eating, Mr. Combs brings around a santa hat full of numbers, one for each member. Your number is 42 which sucks, but it's decided that things will go 50 to 1, and you're glad for this. Don't want anyone snatching the gift you've got an eye on, now would we?  
  
Coincidentally enough, Mr. Combs has number 50, and gets to go first. Your chairs are all set up in a half circle so you can all watch him as he gets up and looks around the tree for a gift that doesn't look too bad, judging by it's wrapping paper.  
But when he opens up a medium sized box ornated with red paper, the results are fucking beautiful. So beautiful, it almost brings tears to your eyes.   
  
Inside, there is a black and white zebra striped fedora with matching leg and arm warmers. Kanaya requests that he puts them on and he does, laughing and shaking his head as the rest of the band is still on the edges of their seats in their own fit of laughter.   
  
"No one steal that from Mr. Combs!" Terezi exclaims.  
Oh, by the way, you forgot to mention.   
You can steal gifts in this game.  
  
That's the best thing but it's also the worst because once your gift is stolen, you can't steal it back because your turn is already over with. That, and a gift can be stolen three times before it's locked in.   
  
You think the In-n-out gift card goes through more than three people though because, holy shit, everyone wanted that thing. John ends up getting it.  
  
You were originally going to go for the gift that was shaped like a ukulele, but the person who picks it before you reveals it to actually be a ukulele shaped popcorn container thing, with Elvis Presley's face on the side. What you get is actually a floating pen that even works on touch screens so it's still fucking awesome.  
  
But then someone picks it up.  
Your gift.   
  
What makes it even more funny for you is that it's Karkat, and when he opens it for the Squadron to see, his eyebrows furrow and he scowls.  
"What is _this_? _Munchkin Cheers_? Seriously?" He holds up the doll and examines it before pressing one of the 'try me!' areas.  
  
 _"We're #1, we can't be #2 'cause we're going beat the whoopsie's out of you, the whoopsie's out of you."  
  
He shoots you a glare and all you can think about is how fucking hilarious it's going to be when he confronts you after school about your choice of gift. You're pretty sure the only reason he didn't flip his lid now, is because there are adults in here, and that would be risky.  
   
_ Videos and pictures are taken, and he angrily shoves the doll back into the box and pushes it to his seat with his foot.  
That's definitely something to remember, years to come.   
  
Unfortunately, the band party can't last forever and one everyone has their gifts, it's about time for you all to be dismissed. You guys had extended 7th period for this.  
Once you _are_  told you can go home and you're already walking with John to the front of the school, you remember that Terezi his your muffler in the drum closet and you have to go back and get it.  
  
"Just a sec, Egbert. Got to find this before break. My bro would kill me without it." You say, letting go of his hand to step into the drum closet.   
"In that case, I'll help you look." He responds, slipping inside as well.   
It's pretty cramped in there, so when John exclaims that he found it, you bump foreheads.  
  
"Shit, sorry. That was an accident." John says, lightly stroking your forehead with his thumb. "Are you okay?"  
  
Underneath the Christmas lights someone put up in the closet, John looks like an angel or something like that. The white and the red poke out from behind his messy hair and frame his face perfectly. You can't believe you two are actually dating.  
You're so busy thinking about him, you'd think you wouldn't hear or process his next words. Aha, okay, not completely. But he points up and sure enough, there is something there; a mistletoe handing from the ceiling.   
  
And before he speaks some more, you cup his face in your hands and leave a gentle kiss on his lips, and he kisses back.   
  
You love John Egbert.  
  
Actually, hold on.  
You might have just accidentally spoke it because he pulls away from the kiss and stares at you. And for a moment, you're a terrified. That is, until he says something that makes your inner butterflies flap their wings at 100 miles per hour.  
  
"I love you too, Dave."   
  
John is easily the best person you've ever come across.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my gosh ;3; this is the first time i've ever finished a fic before.   
> thank you to everyone that took the time to read all of this. <3   
> there's a void in my heart now that it's over omfg.  
> but yes, thankyouthankyouthankyou.
> 
> I enjoy friends so  
> My blog:  
> http://octagonexplorer.tumblr.com
> 
> I also post my own cosplay/fic related things here when it isn't me reblogging at the speed of light.
> 
> Mr. Combs:  
> https://scontent-b-sjc.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-frc3/t1/q71/s720x720/1511252_599945206721588_1474951278_n.jpg
> 
> hAHAHAHA my band director ;o

**Author's Note:**

> you cutie patootie


End file.
